


Four-Legged Fiend

by vivaciousWordsmith



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Driving, GTA AU, Gangs and stuff, Gen, Shooting, Wolf!Ryan AU, based on art, based on fanart, based on tumblr, some stabbings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivaciousWordsmith/pseuds/vivaciousWordsmith
Summary: Several years before the Fake AH Crew was officially founded, a chance mistake after a heist brings a strange looking pup into their lives. Over time he would become one of the best assets the crew could ask for. With an intelligence to rival a human's and an undying loyalty to his crew, Los Santos sure as hell won't know what hit it.Based on the Wolf!Ryan AU by @ask-thevagabond on Tumblr.





	1. One Man's Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds a plastic bag in the river after his and Geoff's heist. What’s inside will change him forever.

Police sirens wailed through the night while the best and brightest of the Los Santos Police Department sought them out. Sniffer dogs searched every slum, every nook and every cranny a criminal might hide in, and choppers circled restlessly over the tallest rooftops, but to no avail. It seemed that the two crooks had gotten away scot free with their jewelry store heist.

Several miles away, the two criminals in question peeped through the blinds of their hideout. It was a tiny, three-room shanty built into the side of Mount Chiliad that didn’t face Los Santos. Unless you knew how to get to it, the little hideout was impossible to find. The footpath leading up to it was almost overgrown, and the road accessing the footpath was made of dirt and gravel. It had cost them quite a few heists to invest in it, but seeing the cops swarm like ants over the city made the endeavors worth it.

“See? I told you this shack was a good investment,” said Geoff. He was the older of the two, and much more richly outfitted, even considering the liberal coating of dirt covering his black shoes and the cuffs of his pant legs. He let the blinds fall back into place and flopped down into his lawn chair. “They’ll never find us here.”

“Still, we cut it pretty fucking close,” said Jack. His clothes were much more casual, consisting of tennis shoes, white and blue striped shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt. He continued to watch the night while his partner relaxed. His heart still pounded hard after the chase through the city. “You know, that crew idea of yours is getting more appealing every day.”

“I know, right?” Geoff smirked up at him. “Think about how much easier it’d be to disable cameras and shit with a _real_ tech expert.”

“What about an explosives guy? That’d made safe-cracking much less of a hassle.”

“See? See how _awesome_ it would be?” A water bug skittered over Geoff’s shoe. He jumped and squashed it with his heel. “Besides, I’m fucking sick and tired of squatting in these fucking…fucking…holes.” He sagged into his chair and gestured towards one of the doors. “Now be a pal and grab some celebratory beers for us.”

“On it.” Jack turned from the window and made his way into the kitchenette. There was a mini-fridge and a tiny stove and one cupboard in there. They’d stocked it the week before the heist with the hopes that they could live off that until the coast was clear. Jack popped the door of the mini-fridge open and peered inside. There was one gallon of milk, a carton of orange juice, a carton of eggs, some sliced cheese, a package of lunchmeat, and four apples. No beer.

“Uh, Geoff? We have a problem.”

“Please tell me it has nothing to do with not having beer.”

“Bingo.”

Geoff let out an incredulous groan. Jack stood and shut the door. He returned in time to see Geoff drop his head into his hands.

“The one thing we didn’t fucking grab. Of course.”

“At least we have plenty to eat.” Geoff lifted his head and looked Jack dead in the eye. “You’re seriously not considering blowing our cover for _beer,_ are you?”

“Why would I go? _You’re_ the getaway driver.”

“Wha – why the fuck would _I_ go?”

“You don’t stand out as much as I do!”

“Bullshit I don’t!”

“C’mon, what’s a heist wrap-up party without booze?” Jack didn’t budge. “Please? Fuck, I’ll even give you a bigger cut if you want.”

Jack sighed and finally relented. “Fine, fine, I’ll get your beer.”

“Great! I’ll see you in…however long it takes you to find a convenience store that hasn’t heard the news.” With that, Geoff pulled out a laptop and started tapping away at it.

“Whatever.” Jack turned on his heel, pulled the door open and stepped into the night. He struggled to close the door behind him, and as soon as it was closed, he was on his way. The footpath was even more treacherous at night, and he stumbled on rocks and roots jutting unseen out of the ancient path. Each trip was accompanied by a garbled swear and a frenzied stamping to regain balance. Fortunately, Jack made it back down to the little road alongside the river without severely injuring himself.

“Fucking finally. Thank God I didn’t fucking break anything.” The disgruntled getaway driver stepped toward his concealed car and immediately slipped on a loose river rock. “God _dammit!_ ” He wormed it out of the ground and chucked it into the river. It plopped into the water and disappeared in a cloud of dirt. Several drops of water splashed against something dark and oddly plastic. Jack blinked and looked up.

A black garbage bag stuck out amongst the rocks in the river. Jack sighed and shook his head. He may be a criminal, but even he knew littering was wrong. He stepped down onto the bank, grabbed a stick and looped it through the yellow handles. The weight tugging on the stick made him pause.

“C’mon, a full garbage bag? Really?”

Jack toed off his shoes and waded into the river. He bent down and pulled the bag out of river fully. The lump at the bottom shifted. Jack trudged back to the bank and set the bag down next to his shoes. It flopped over, and the lump shifted to the middle. A tiny whimper sounded from the bag.

He stopped dead.

“Oh my God.”

Jack pulled a knife from his back pocket and cut through the knot keeping the bag closed. He pulled the bag open and reached inside. Something sharp nipped at his fingers, and a hot, sticky wetness engulfed the tip of his index. With his other hand, he pushed back the plastic.

A tiny black pup nipped weakly at his fingers. It blinked when the light hit its face and looked up. Jack let out a gasp. It had two bright blue eyes, and white markings around its eyes and on its nose and cheeks. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but those markings looked an awful lot like a skull. More white splotches dotted its back and tail, and one foot had a white sock. The pup whimpered and drew back into the bag.

“You poor thing.” He reached out and scooped the pup into his arms. It nibbled on his fingers for a few seconds, but ended up curling into his warmth. Its stick-like tail tucked between its legs, and it hid its face in Jack’s Hawaiian shirt with a soft whimper. Jack scooped up the bag and scowled at it. “Who the fuck would do this?”

Mt Chiliad didn’t offer him an answer, so Jack stood up and headed back to his car. With his free hand, he pulled out his phone and dialed Geoff’s number.

His partner picked up after two rings. “Seriously? Already? You just went out for drinks!”

“No, it’s not that, I’m fine. There’s no cops.”

“Then why are you calling me?”

Jack set the pup in his lap and started the car. The noise startled the pup, and it lifted its head and let out a little howl. “That. That’s why.”

Geoff was silent for a long moment. “Was that a dog?”

“I found it, Geoff. Someone dumped it in the river. In a fucking garbage bag.”

A sharp inhale whistled over the line. “Okay, that’s fucking awful, but we can’t keep a dog.”

Something nudged at Jack’s stomach. He looked down and saw the pup attempting to bury into his lap. His heart tightened in his chest, and tears beaded up at the corners of his eyes. He pet the pup’s tiny back with his index and middle fingers, and it relaxed and curled up in his lap.

“If you saw him, you wouldn’t say that.”

“Fuck. You’re already getting attached.” He sighed, and Jack could almost see him putting his head in his hands. “Fine. We’ll keep it while we’re in hiding, and then you have to find it a home.”

“Yeah, I’m sure _that’s_ how it’s gonna go down.”

Jack drove down the highway with the utmost of care, much more than he usually did. Every time he went over a bump the pup whimpered and curled as tightly as it could. Its tiny heart pounded so quickly in its chest Jack could feel it fluttering against his leg. His tiny flanks heaved with every breath he took. Occasionally the crook would run a finger down the pup’s back, and it would relax ever so slightly.

It took him about twenty minutes to reach a relatively dead-end gas station in San Andreas. Jack crossed his fingers and hoped the news of the heist hadn’t reached it yet. He parked in front of the store and tucked the pup close to his chest. Its little paws batted at his hand before it burrowed into his chest with a whimper.

The door pinged when it opened, and Jack quickly ducked into an aisle. The clerk briefly glanced up from his magazine, saw Jack hovering next to the beef jerky, and returned to his articles. Jack let out a sigh and walked down the aisle toward the booze. He paused next to the canned dog food mid-aisle.

He looked down at the pup and stroked his tiny head with a finger. “Are you old enough for solid food?” The pup’s little blue eyes peeped up at him and blinked solemnly. “We’ll try it.” He grabbed a couple cans of food, swung around to the very first aisle, and picked up a few baby bottles. Next he grabbed a 24-pack of beer from the fridge and headed toward the register. Briefly he entertained the thought of shooting the cashier and walking out without paying, but they were in hot shit enough already without him bringing the heat to San Andreas.

He put a $20 down on the counter and cleared his throat. The cashier shut his magazine, picked up a decrepit scanner, and slowly rung up his items. The pup yipped and wiggled in Jack’s arm. He lifted him up and tucked him more securely against his chest. A wet nose snuffled at his neck and chin for a few seconds. Then the pup nibbled at the collar of his shirt and growled low in his throat.

The entire time he was checking out, Jack crossed his fingers and hoped he could get through this without resorting to violence. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be opposed to a shootout, but the tiny pup curled against his chest made him change tactics. Plus, Geoff would be up his ass if he brought any more heat down upon their heads.

After an eternity, the clerk put Jack’s stuff in a plastic bag and pushed it and his change across the counter. Jack scooped it up and hurried back to his car. He put the bag in the floorboard and set the pup in the passenger seat. It whimpered and huddled against the seat. Jack pet its ears and dialed Geoff’s number.

“I got the booze. We’re heading back now.”

Geoff was quiet for a long moment. “We?”

“Me and the puppy.”

“You seriously still have that thing?”

“Oh, trust me, once you see this little guy, you’ll understand.”

Suddenly, the pup scampered over the center console and into Jack’s lap. He started and nearly drove into a ditch. He regained control just in time for the pup to hide its face in Jack’s Hawaiian shirt. “Jesus _Christ!_ ”

“What? What’s going on? I swear to God-”

“No cops, I promise! It’s just…he’s really cuddly.”

“Jack, we’re not keeping it.”

“Just for the week, Geoff. At least until the heat blows over.” A tiny set of teeth nipped at the hem of Jack’s shirt, and Jack brushed the tips of the pup’s ears with his knuckles. “I’m telling you, when you see him, you’ll bend.”

“Bend nothing! We’re not adopting a dog. I don’t care how fucking cute it is.” Geoff hung up after that. Jack chucked the phone into the passenger seat and set about returning to home base.

All the while, the pup never moved from his lap.


	2. Another Man's Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the heat blows off, Jack and Geoff head home. Despite his best efforts, the pup begins to grow on Geoff.

“I told you, we’re not keeping that thing!”

Jack scowled at Geoff and scooped up the pup. “He is not a thing.”

Geoff crossed his arms. “Fine. We’re not keeping _him._ Is that better?”

Jack huffed and left the living room. They’d returned to their home two days ago when their contacts sounded the all-clear. As it turned out, the pup was indeed old enough to eat solid food, and he’d turned into a little vacuum cleaner the moment the plate was set in front of him. Jack swore the little thing had sucked down more than double his weight in food in a matter of hours, and he ran out of canned food only two days into their stay. With his belly full, the pup grew much bolder. He stopped hiding in Jack’s lap and explored their little hideout from top to bottom.

Geoff spent the whole time eyeing the pup balefully and grumbling under his breath. He nearly flipped his lid when the pup squatted in the corner and peed all over the power cables. It took Jack nearly fifteen minutes to remind Geoff that the pup wasn’t paper trained and he didn’t deliberately target the cables to piss him off. His partner eventually relented with the promise that Jack would keep the pup out of trouble for the remainder of their stay, and would find him a good home when they returned to Los Santos.

Jack had yet to make good on the second part of that promise.

Truth be told, the pup had won him over the moment he saw that tiny skull-face peeping up at him from the depths of the garbage bag. Jack couldn’t even imagine getting rid of the little pup now. Hell, the first thing he did after getting back to Los Santos was read up on dogs and raid the nearest pet store. There was now a box in his room stuffed to the brim with dog toys, a shelf full of wet puppy food in the kitchen, a ceramic bowl covered in dog prints in the sink, several dog beds strewn about the apartment, a leash hanging beside the door, pee pads in every corner he thought the pup could reach, and an entire slew of tiny shirts and collars residing in his dresser drawer. He’d blown a sizable chunk of his cut from the heist on puppy stuff.

He didn’t regret it one bit. Especially not when he saw the little black and white baby curled up in a corner of the giant dog bed the cashier had assured him the pup would grow into one day.

God, he already had eight billion puppy photos on his phone. He was so fucked.

Jack chuckled and waltzed into the kitchen. Most of the articles he’d found online said the pup needed plenty of food to grow into a good, strong dog. The pup ate like it was going out of style, and Jack swore he’d already doubled in size. He wiggled in Jack’s arms and pushed his wet nose into his beard. His little stick of a tail wagged as soon as Jack put him on the counter and set his bowl beside him. He had half a can left over from the pup’s breakfast, which he quickly retrieved from the fridge. The pup yipped and scampered around on the counter.

“It’s coming, it’s coming.” Jack dumped the remainder of the can into the bowl, and it was immediately beset by the pup. He smacked and slurped at the food, and little bits of processed meat flew out and spattered over the counter. Jack beamed and brushed his fingers over the pup’s back. He currently wore a shirt that proclaimed _I’m a Bad Boy,_ with a skull and crossbones beneath the text. Out of the twenty-odd shirts Jack had bought, it was currently his favorite.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeding him on the counter again.” Geoff bumped past Jack and pulled a beer from the fridge. He closed the door, retrieved a bottle opener from the utensil drawer, and popped the top off. “We make shit on that counter.”

“You know Clorox exists, right?”

“I don’t fucking care.” He chugged half the beer in one go and burped. “The fuck is he wearing, anyway?”

“A shirt?”

“Why the fuck is he wearing a shirt?”

“Cause it’s funny and he doesn’t seem to mind?”

“Who does that?!”

“Literally everyone who owns a dog?”

Geoff shook his head. “It’s weird.”

“Is it any weirder than anything else people do for their pets?”

“You know what? I’ll tell you what’s weird. His fucking face. His fucking face is weird.” Geoff pointed at the pup. “That skull face isn’t natural. Little freak.”

“Really, Geoff? Really?” Jack patted the pup’s back a few times. “You’re not a freak, are you?”

“Number nine on Los Santos’s most wanted list, everybody.”

The pup polished off his lunch and looked up at Jack. His head tilted to one side. “That’s all you’re getting until dinnertime, champ.” He put the bowl in the sink and picked the pup up again. “How about you and me go for a walk?”

“How about you and him find him a home that isn’t here?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Says the guy who bought a dog fucking t-shirts!” Geoff tramped back into the living room and flopped into a worn armchair. “I’ll find one myself if you don’t.”

“Sure. Once you convince some assholes to come work for us, you can find the pup a home.”

Geoff groaned and let his head flop back against the aging leather. “Don’t fucking remind me. I’m talking to this guy up in New Jersey right now, but it’s like pulling fucking teeth.”

“Why are you talking to a guy in New Jersey?” Jack pulled the leash and a tiny blue harness off the peg next to the front door and set the pup on the ground. He growled and ran over to Geoff’s ottoman. “Goddammit, I know you don’t like it, but you have to wear a leash when we go out!”

“He claims he’s the best demo guy in the business, and he’s job hunting at the moment, and he’s interested in joining a proper crew.”

“So what’s the problem?” Jack managed to catch the pup and wrestled him into his harness. The pup growled and spent several minutes trying to bite the straps on his shoulders.

“The problem? The problem is we’re in Los Santos and he’s in fucking New Jersey and he’s not sure he wants to relocate two thousand goddamn miles away from home!” Geoff sipped at his beer and sighed. “I’m trying to negotiate with him, but it’s looking unlikely.”

“Then find someone closer to home.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not? Sounds pretty fucking simple to me.” Jack clipped the leash onto the harness and opened the door. “We’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Whatever.”

The pup resisted being led by the leash right up until they left the apartment. His little ears stood up straight and he immediately ran in front of Jack. He sniffed the slimy-looking sidewalk and darted over to a beer can with several cigarette butts sticking out of the aperture. Jack tugged on the leash and pulled the pup away from the debris. God, this apartment was a shithole.

While they walked, Jack mused on what Geoff had said earlier. He’d talked for several years now about forming a proper crew, but it was only when they got back from their most recent heist that he’d seriously started looking into recruiting. Apparently he’d been pinching his pennies for quite some time so he could hire what he called “the best in the business.” He promised Jack that things would be better once they got some guys. No more squatting in holes. No more fearing the LSPD would come knocking on their door. No more drug running in the middle of the night. No more kowtowing to greasy-looking shitheads who were half as old as them. They would be the ones calling the shots. They would be the ones on top. They’d sit back sipping champagne and laugh while their underlings did the dirty work.

At least, that was Geoff’s dream. God only knew how it would turn out.

Most of the fifteen minute walk went by uneventfully, save for a few moments where Jack had to keep the pup from exploring upturned trash cans and abandoned buildings. He trotted along happily enough, which left Jack to his contemplating. Soon enough it was over and they were heading home. The little pup climbed a set of three stairs leading up into the parking lot all by himself, and looked down on Jack with what almost looked like pride.

“Good job, buddy!” The pup’s tail wagged, and warmth settled over the criminal’s insides. He scooped the pup up and carried him back into the apartment.

Geoff now snored in his worn chair, laptop still resting on his knees, though it looked dangerously close to smashing on the floor. Jack sighed and put the laptop on the coffee table. “So much for that crew thing,” he muttered. The pup looked at him and tilted his head. “C’mon, buddy, let’s go take a nap.”

* * *

When Jack woke up, the pup was not in his bed. A moment of panic flashed through him and he jumped out of his bed. He ran into the living room and glanced around several times before finally catching sight of the pup. Relief washed over him, and then he let out a soft laugh.

The pup had somehow crawled onto Geoff’s lap and fallen asleep with his legs stretched out and his muzzle buried in his partner’s knees. His sock-clad back leg occasionally twitched in time with an unseen dream, and the pup let out a tiny grunt every so often.

Jack pulled out his phone and took a few pictures. The shutter sound eventually caused Geoff to stir. He let out an incomprehensible grumble and looked down into his lap. His shoulders stiffened, and he glared at Jack.

“Don’t…fucking…say…anything.”

“Say what? I didn’t put him there.”

“This…this changes nothing! He’ll be out of here by Thursday, I swear to fucking Christ!” The pup rolled over and showed Geoff his black and white underbelly. His front paws folded up against his chest and his back paws stretched out into Geoff’s lap. His mouth opened ever so slightly, revealing the tip of a bright pink tongue. Jack’s partner swallowed and tore his eyes away. “Friday. But that’s my final offer.”

“How can you look at that and still want to give him away?”

“I don’t! I mean, I do, but – shut up. Just shut up.” Geoff shifted in his chair until he was able to grab his laptop and set it on the arm of the chair. “I’m looking up good homes for puppies right now, I swear to fucking Christ.”

“Sure you are.” Jack meandered over to the kitchen and got a beer and a bag of chips for himself. When he walked by Geoff he glanced over at his laptop screen and saw an Amazon store page full of dogs wearing little suits and hats. “We’re not keeping him, huh?”

“What? Uh, it’s not what it looks like!” Geoff alt-tabbed out of the page and quickly googled ‘dog homes’. He only became more frantic when the results were all dog houses. “I, uh, you know, guy’s gotta look his best if he’s gonna win his new family over, right?”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Seriously. I want him to make a good first impression.”

The pup stirred and yawned widely. His tiny white teeth flashed in the light. He rolled onto his paws, shook himself and jumped onto the arm of the chair. He snuffled at the dogs on the screen and looked up at Geoff.

“Yeah? Like what you see, buddy?” Geoff rubbed between the pup’s ears. “I bet this blue deal would bring out your eyes.” He pointed at something on the screen. The pup licked his finger and wagged his tail. “We’ll make you look handsome as fuck.”

Jack just watched the scene play out like it was a movie. He hid his smile behind his beer bottle and munched on chips. The ‘staunch resistance’ looked like it would peter out soon enough.

“‘We’re not keeping him’ my ass,” he said under his breath.

“What was that?” Geoff looked up from the screen. His fingers still rested on the pup’s back.

“Nothing.”

* * *

 “Seriously? This is so stupid.”

“He needs a name, dude.”

Jack looked over at the opposite wall and raised his eyebrows. “On that, we agree, sure. But _this_ is your best solution?”

The pup’s name had been a topic of heated debate all week long. Both of them had entire lists of wonderful names that neither of them agreed on. Then, that Wednesday morning, right after Jack had finished a rather difficult carjacking job, Geoff pulled him into the living room and told him all their name troubles were solved. His ‘solution’ involved covering their dartboard in over a dozen Post-It notes with names scrawled on them in Sharpie. One toss of a dart would finally end their week long debate.

“Look, it was either this or drawing names from a hat. If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

“Nope. This is all you.” The pup ran toward them and sat down at Jack’s feet. He bent down and scooped him up, smiling when the pup snuffled at his cheek. “Looks like you’ll finally get a name now, if Geoff ever throws the damn dart.”

“I’m working on it!” Geoff picked up a red-fletched dart, which he claimed was his lucky dart, closed one eye, and cocked it over his shoulder. “Okay…aiming for Skeletor…really…feeling…Skeletor.”

“For the last time, we’re not naming him Skeletor.”

“Yeah? When this dart lands on Skeletor, you’re gonna look _real_ stupid. Like…right now!” Geoff stepped forward and threw the dart. It thunked solidly into the Post-It note directly below the ‘Skeletor’ note. “Fuck.”

“Like I said, we’re not naming him Skeletor.” Jack walked forward and pulled the dart out of the board.

“That, uh, that was a misfire. That means I get a retry.”

“What – no you don’t get a retry! You said one shot would decide this! That was your one shot! So we’re naming him…” Jack grabbed the Post-It note and glanced at it. “Ryan. We’re naming him Ryan.”

“Oh my God, that’s the most boring name in the universe,” said Geoff. “I still say we should go for Skeletor.”

“Well, what do you think?” Jack looked at the pup in his arms. He gazed solemnly back at him. “You think Ryan’s a good name?” The pup tilted his head, and his tongue flopped out of his mouth. “Ryan it is then.”

Geoff glared at the faded marks on the red dart. “Traitor.”

Jack burst out laughing. The pup – now Ryan, he supposed – wiggled in his arms and let out a yip.

“Don’t get too excited, Ryan. Next up is your vet appointment.”

Ryan whined and ducked his head into Jack’s arm.


	3. The Man from Jersey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after Ryan comes into Geoff and Jacks' lives, a new member joins the crew.

Time went by, as it usually did, in uneven lumps. There were days that had no end in sight, and there were weeks that flew past without either of them noticing. Geoff spent most of his downtime still trying to recruit crew members, though he mostly focused on the demolitions ‘expert’ in New Jersey. Jack was largely uninvolved in that sort of thing and spent his time taking care of their little group. Geoff took care of the business side of things, and Jack made sure they had food, water and shelter. It was how they’d gotten along for years now.

In a matter of weeks, Ryan had outgrown most of the clothes Jack had gotten for them, so all of those ended up in a box at the Goodwill. Jack and Geoff both agreed that although it was rather cute to see him wearing clothes, they should probably wait until he was fully grown to buy more. His fur grew thicker and fluffier as he grew larger and larger, and his muzzle pushed out in a sharp point. The skull markings were even more prominent now, and several people told Jack it made Ryan look eerie. His eyes stayed the same baby blue color, standing out starkly in contrast with his black fur.

They’d poured over breed blogs and websites and Wikipedia pages, but neither Geoff nor Jack knew just what the hell Ryan was, especially now that he was older. The vet hadn’t been sure either, and had wanted them to do a DNA ancestry test, but at the time they could barely afford it. Even though Geoff had warmed to Ryan at that point, he still refused to dip into his precious crew money for the pup.

Then, six months later, a knock sounded at the door. Ryan leaped up from his bed and ran over to the door. His bushy tail wagged furiously behind him while he scratched at the knob. Even though he hadn’t quite entered the ‘teenage’ phase yet, the pup had grown immensely in the half year they’d had him. He was almost a foot and a half tall at the shoulder already. Geoff proudly bragged that he was going to be huge, like, maybe even wolf-sized.

Another knock rapped at the door, and Ryan let out a single bark. That alone was enough to bring Jack running out of the kitchen. Ryan was an unusually quiet dog. It took a lot to make him bark.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” said Jack. Ryan slipped off the door and looked up at Jack. His lips stretched into a doggy grin, and he cocked his head. “C’mon, Ryan, get away from the door.” He nudged the dog aside with his legs, only to have Ryan return and scratch at the door seconds later. Jack sighed and reached for a nearby basket. A well-worn brown and gray cow toy rested on top, and he waved it at Ryan. The dog’s ears stood up straight and his eyes widened. A squeeze of the cow’s squeaker had him eagerly bouncing in place, paws tapping on the tile floor. “Yeah? You want Edgar, buddy?” Jack tossed him as far from the door as possible. Ryan took off after it, clearing the ottoman and knocking a stack of papers off the coffee table in the process.

Another knock sounded, much louder this time, and forceful enough to make the door’s hinges rattle. Jack flipped the safety off on his pistol and pulled the door open.

A young man stood on the other side of the door, fist raised and eyes wide with surprise. “Finally. Jesus.” He let his fist fall and shifted awkwardly in place. “Uh…are you Geoff?”

“No. Geoff’s out right now.” A squeak from behind him made both Jack and the young stranger jump. Jack glanced down and saw Ryan standing directly behind him, Edgar the cow clutched tightly between his teeth. He squeaked the toy again and looked expectantly up at Jack. “Not now, Ryan. Later.” He turned back to the stranger, who slowly stowed his pistol back in his brown jacket. “Are you one of the new recruits?”

“Yeah. I’m Michael.” He held out his hand. “Michael Jones. I’m the demolitions guy.”

The pronunciation of ‘guy’ made Jack’s eyebrow raise. “Wait, _you’re_ the guy from New Jersey? I thought you didn’t want to come down to Los Santos.”

Michael shrugged. “Geoff made an offer I couldn’t refuse, and I thought, what the hell, I could use a change of scenery.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Okay. Guess you’d better come in.” He slid the chain back and nudged Ryan aside with his foot. “Hold on – Ryan, move!” The pup very helpfully did not move at all, and instead sat down at Jack’s feet and squeaked Edgar again. “Okay, fine, you win.” He carefully pried the toy out of Ryan’s mouth and tossed it. The young dog turned tail and bounded over the armchair, giving Jack enough time to let Michael into the apartment.

The young criminal tossed a bulging duffle bag into the corner of the room and flopped down into the chair. He let out a long breath and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“If you’re not Geoff, then who the fuck are you?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You’re just _now_ asking this?”

“I’ve been on a fucking plane for twenty hours. Fucking sue me.”

“I’m Jack Pattillo, Geoff’s partner. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about me.”

Michael shrugged. “He said he had a partner, just never said his name.” He shifted slightly in the chair and glanced around the living room. “So…if Geoff’s out…and you’re Jack…who the fuck is Ryan?”

At that moment, the six-month old pup vaulted over the ottoman and landed squarely on Michael’s lap. The New Jersey criminal wheezed loudly and curled up on himself. He dropped the worn cow toy onto his chest and bathed the demo man’s freckled cheeks with his tongue. Jack ran forward, grabbed Ryan’s collar and pulled him back down onto the floor.

“This is Ryan.” The pup’s ears twitched. He jerked free from Jack, ran over to his toy basket, and upended it. “We’re still working on training him.”

“It’s…all right.” Michael sat up and gingerly smoothed out his jacket and jeans. “I mean, I’m not hurt.”

Ryan ran back over to him and dropped a plastic fish and a torn-up rope toy on top of his squeaky cow, which was still in Michael’s lap. He sat down at Michael’s feet and watched him intently.

“Ryan, Jones is here for business, not to play with you. C’mon, I think you need a time-out.” He pulled open the patio door and whistled. Ryan whined and laid his head on Michael’s knees. “Ryan! Come here!”

“Nah, leave him. I don’t mind. And it’s Michael, not fucking Jones.” Michael rubbed Ryan’s ears and grinned when the pup’s tail wagged and his head lolled. “Wow, he is _friendly._ What breed is he?”

“We don’t know yet. The vet wants to send his blood in for ancestry testing, but, uh, we can’t really afford it at the moment. Not with all the other shit we’ve had to do.” Jack returned to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, sure.” Michael gently pulled the dog’s chin up and gazed at his skull markings. “He looks kinda like a wolf. You think he might be part wolf? Cause that would be fucking badass.”

“Geoff certainly wants him to be a wolf. He thinks that would give the crew an edge.”

“Plus it would be fucking cool.” Ryan chose that moment to jump into Michael’s lap and start licking his face again. “Holy _fuck,_ man!”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be a great asset.” Still, Jack couldn’t help smiling at the sight. He did so love that pup. He handed Michael his beer, which was made more difficult than normal with the addition of a curious pup sniffing his hand. Michael gratefully accepted the bottle and chugged down half in two great swigs.

The door creaked open, and Geoff walked briskly into the hallway. He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw Michael sitting in the armchair. Ryan jumped up and ran over to him, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

“Michael?! I was just at the fucking airport looking for you!”

“My plane got in forty-five minutes early.”

“And you didn’t think to, oh I don’t know, fucking call me and tell me?”

“My fucking phone died during the trip. What’s with the fucking third degree, anyway? You’re not my father.”

Ryan pawed at Geoff’s slacks, and the criminal finally acknowledged him with a few scratches behind the ears. His scowl flickered for a few moments, and then he couldn’t help but beam down at the happy pup. He moved to sit by Jack, and Ryan wandered back over to Michael and laid his head on his knee.

“Guess I should just be glad you got here in one piece, even if you made me wait at the airport for-fucking-ever.” Geoff dusted off his cuff and gazed intently at the curly-haired youth occupying his chair. “Anyway. Down to business. We’ve thought long and hard about it – ”

Michael and Jack both snickered. Ryan’s ears twitched, and he tilted his head.

“ – Shut up, dickheads. Anyway, Jack and I thought about it, and, well, we’re willing to offer you a place to stay while you try our little crew on for size. We, uh, have jack shit to offer at the moment, but-”

“Are you kidding? I blew everything I had just getting here. I don’t care if I have to sleep on the fucking floor, I’d much rather have a roof over my head.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to sleep on the floor here,” said Jack.

Geoff waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll get your own room, don’t worry.”

Jack looked at him. “We have an extra room?”

Geoff elbowed him in the side. “Yes, we absolutely have an extra room.” Michael’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “But, uh, with your help, and if any of the other assholes I’ve talked to actually show their faces, we should run this town this time next year.” Ryan yipped and pushed his nose into Michael’s hand. “And, fuck, Ryan likes you, so I’m optimistic.”

“I thought Ryan liked everyone.”

“Oh believe me, there are people he absolutely does not like,” said Geoff. “If the vet had a dollar for every time Ryan’s bitten him, he’d be a fucking millionaire.”

“So, uh, why do you guys have him, anyway? Is he an attack dog? Does he know how to break down doors or some shit?”

“That’s still a work in progress,” said Jack. “He’s…a little contrary.”

“He knows one trick.” Geoff sat up straight and slapped his legs. “Ryan! Hey, Ryan!” The pup’s ears perked up, and his tail wagged madly. “Go to the fridge and get me a beer!” Ryan bounded through the living room and into the kitchen.

“Can he really fetch beer? This dog’s fucking amazing!”

Ryan reentered the room. A silver can was clutched between his teeth, which he promptly dropped in Geoff’s lap. “See? He’s such a good boy.” He popped the tab, and a wave of brown froth burst from the top and drenched his slacks. “Fucking _fuck!_ These were brand new.”

“That doesn’t look like beer,” said Michael.

Geoff blinked and inspected the can. “Goddammit, it’s a Diet Coke.”

Ryan sat at Geoff’s feet and beamed at him.

“Like I said, it’s a work in progress. He _is_ still a puppy,” said Jack. “Plus he doesn’t know how to read.”

“Well, A for effort, I guess.” Geoff patted Ryan’s head and stood. “Sorry about, well, everything. I swear to God, once the other assholes answer my fucking phone calls, we’ll be on top of the world.”

“Just give me shit to blow up and I’ll be a happy little boy.”

Geoff grinned. “I think we’ll get along just fine, Michael Jones.”


	4. The Big Push, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of working at the bottom and robbing gas stations, Geoff decides, since they now have a demolitions expert, it's time to break with tradition and perform their first real heist as a crew.

With a new demoman under their belt, Geoff turned his eyes to a tech expert. Unlike Michael, there were literally thousands of potential candidates clamoring to join the crew. Apparently none of them caught Geoff’s eye that much, and by the time the year rolled to a close, he had ruled out almost two hundred and fifty hacker wannabes. His eye started twitching if Jack or Michael so much as mentioned computers.

In the meantime, they planned their next heist. Even though he only had three crewmembers and a young dog at his disposal, Geoff set his sights high and targeted a branch of the Maze Bank. It was a tiny bank in a strip mall on the outskirts of town, sure, but it was a much loftier target than their usual fare. They could easily walk away several hundred thousand dollars richer if they could crack the safety deposit boxes. Geoff had chosen this particular location not just because it was on the edges of town but also because it had yet to fully computerize its systems. Any other bank would have them tied up and shipped off to Bolingbroke before any of them could react, especially since their computer expert was nonexistent.

“I’m telling you, it’ll be a piece of cake,” said Geoff. He currently stood in front of a map of Los Santos covered in pictures of the bank in question.

“Even if it’s small, it’s still a fucking _bank,_ Geoff. It’s not like gas stations or even the jewelry stores. We go in there without a tech guy, we’ll be arrested in no time flat.” Jack sat back and frowned at the map.

“Well, what the fuck do you want us to do, Jack?! Sit around, jerk off and just _hope_ we’ll become the top dogs of Los Santos?” Geoff flopped down into the chair at the head of the table and scowled at Jack. “If we want to make any sort of impact in this shithole of a city, we gotta make a _big_ move.”

“We can’t afford to make a big move! We’ll be forever remembered as the stupid assholes who tried to rob a bank and was literally laughed out of the lobby.”

“I dunno, I’m down for robbing a bank,” said Michael. “We could distract the cops with, oh I don’t know, fucking explosions?”

“See? Michael knows what I’m talking about.”

Jack sighed. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides, what’s wrong with hitting up gas stations and jewelry stores?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is we make fucking _nothing_ off gas stations and jewelry stores! How much did we get last time?”

“Bout a thousand bucks?” said Michael.

“Yeah. A thousand dollars. Barely. It wasn’t even enough to feed Ryan for a month.”

At the sound of his name, the dog’s ears twitched and he sat up. He’d had several growth spurts in the weeks since Michael’s arrival. He was now over three feet tall at the shoulder, and when he stood on his hind paws, he was easily taller than Geoff. Thankfully, he’d calmed down a lot, though he occasionally had bursts of energy that could end in disaster, as several plates, coffee mugs, and weapons could attest to. His eyes were still the same baby blue, and most people described them as ‘haunting’. Not that the crew could argue with that. Sometimes they swore he could understand them perfectly, and sometimes, when the light hit them just right, his eyes had a human look to them. He was smart too, to the point where Geoff locked all the dog treats in his office safe because Ryan unearthed every other hiding spot they’d found and ate every single one of the treats. He was enjoying a bone up until Geoff called his name, whereupon he snapped up his bone and walked over to Geoff.

“No, it’s okay, buddy. You’re okay.” The boss leaned down and scratched at his ruff. His fur was thick enough to swallow Geoff’s fingers completely, and the pup’s head lolled. “You just go chew your bone.”

Ryan dropped the bone at his feet, stretched out and trotted over to Michael. The demo man grinned and rubbed his ears. “Maybe we should bring Rye alone with us.”

“Absolutely not,” said Jack.

“C’mon, look at him!” Michael turned Ryan’s head to face Jack. “He’s got the sickest fucking face I’ve ever seen! Plus he’s so fucking smart! We need every edge we can get!”

“For the thousandth time, _no._ I am _not_ about to let him get hurt out there.”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of Ryan, have we gotten the blood tests back yet?” asked Geoff.

Jack’s face scrunched up and he looked at the ceiling. “Uh…I don’t think so, no. The vet said it could take a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?  We sent that thing in weeks ago!”

“The vet said it could take up to two months, Geoff!”

“Why the fuck do you need a test? He’s a fucking wolf! Look at him!” Michael tapped his index finger between Ryan’s eyes. “Everything about him just screams _wolf_.”

“Yes, Michael. _Especially_ the cuddling. I hear wolves are _super_ cuddly.” Ryan beamed at Jack. His tongue flopped out of his mouth and dribbled on the floor.

“Okay, we’re getting off topic here.” Geoff slapped his hand against the table and jabbed a finger at the map. “Ideas. For heist. Now.”

“I still say we throw the cops off with explosives, and rob the place while they’re dealing with that. We’ll figure the other shit out later.”

“You seriously want to try _winging_ it?”

“Why not? It’s what we always do.”

“Not for something this big!” Jack stood up and stormed out of the dining room.

“Aw, c’mon! Did you seriously expect us to gain any sort of notoriety in Los Santos by robbing late night gas stations?” Geoff followed him and slapped a picture of the bank down on the coffee table. “Yeah, they’re _always_ talking about the fucking gas station bandits. We’re _real_ notorious around the beat-cop circuit.”

“I just think we need to wait until we manage to find someone who knows computers.”

“This fucking bank’s ancient! All it would take is us snipping one wire, and Michael setting up his distractions down the street, and we’d be home free!”

Ryan trotted in after them and sat down at Jack’s feet. His head tilted, and he blinked up at the frustrated criminal. Some of Jack’s irritation faded. Just looking into that dog’s eyes was enough to ease even the worst of troubles. He knelt down and rubbed behind his ears.

“How much money do we have?” he asked.

“Dunno. Couple grand, maybe?”

“Well…if we got masks…and lots of armor…fuck it. Maybe…just _maybe_ ….we could do this.”

Geoff’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Wow. You sure changed your tune quickly.”

“You do have a point. We’ll never get anywhere if we don’t start pushing. I still say we’re nowhere near ready to do this, but if you want to try, I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’d feel a lot better if we had a certain four-legged someone watching our backs.”

Jack’s fingers stilled on the dog’s neck. “No.”

Geoff let out a frustrated sigh. “Look at it this way. Either he comes with us and goes into hiding with us, or he stays here on his own, terrorizing the baby sitters and doing God knows what to the apartment for a few days. Your choice, Jack.”

Geoff did bring up an excellent point. Their not-so-little black and white pup absolutely _hated_ being left at home alone. One particularly memorable time, the three men had come home from a grueling drug run to find the floor covered in a layer of fluffy white couch stuffing. All of the couch cushions had been expertly ripped open and lay sadly on the floor, while the little shit who’d destroyed them blinked up at them with wide blue eyes and squeaked Edgar. Another time Ryan had broken into the pantry and somehow managed to eat an entire jumbo-sized jar of peanut butter.

They still hadn’t figured out how he’d gotten the screw cap off.

In any case, leaving Ryan at home by himself was not the best idea. Unfortunately, leaving him at home with a babysitter wasn’t much better. Ryan was a sweet and friendly pup, but only to people he both knew and liked. Babysitters fell into neither category, and thus were subject to his wrath. One quit after he peed on her handbag. Another walked out after he played with his iPhone and broke it. The third and final sitter ended up getting into a screaming match with Michael because Ryan had bitten her. He hadn’t broken skin or anything, but she howled and sobbed like he had, and Michael eventually turfed her out after she tried to smack Ryan’s snout.

Jack stayed silent for a long time.

“He stays in the car,” he finally said.

“He’ll either get taken by cops or blown up,” said Geoff. “He’ll be better with us. That way, he’s happy and we can keep an eye on him.”

The pup bumped his nose against Jack’s cheek and licked it. He held him close to his chest and scratched his haunches. His white-tipped tail beat against the floor, and little puffs of heat ghosted over his neck.

“I don’t want to lose him, Geoff.”

“We’re not gonna lose him. He’s a smart dog, and with the three of us watching him, he’ll be fine.”

“Seriously? The three of us wouldn’t be able to watch a fucking goldfish during a heist.”

“Jack, you worry too much. Fuck, I’ll even get armor for him if it’s bothering you so much.”

He pulled back and rubbed Ryan’s ears. The dog gazed up at him and tilted his head.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled.

Geoff grinned. “And…?”

“Fine. You win. He comes with us.” Geoff whooped loudly, and Michael chimed in from his place in the living room. “But! You’d better make damn sure he comes out of this in one piece.”

“He will, because this is going to be a piece of cake.” The head of their little gang popped the top off a new beer and reclined his chair. “Better start shopping, boys, ‘cause we have a heist to prepare for.”

* * *

After a great deal of arguing, the three-man crew settled on a bestial costuming theme. This was half because they wanted to make the news and be noticed, and half to keep their real identities from the LSPD. They might be small time criminals, but all three of them still had quite the rap sheet. Jack dressed as a cat, Geoff a buffalo, and Michael a bear. Ryan only wore his collar and a K9 bulletproof vest Geoff bought from an online army surplus store.

Next they acquired explosives. Geoff and Jack each had a pound or so of C4 ‘in case of emergency’ while Michael had nearly 30 pounds of the stuff, enough to reduce both ends of the little side street to rubble in seconds. He gave the older gents a quick crash course on how to set it off and reassured them that without an electrical current, it was as harmless as a block of clay. His eyes had a brightness to them when he talked about explosives that was normally quite lacking, except perhaps when talking about video games.

The third and final part was making sure they were ready in case something went wrong, which they were sure it would. Jack blew a good deal of money on stocking three different hideouts with food and making sure there was enough entertainment there to last them a week or so. Geoff planned out a dozen different escape routes that promised to lose the cops in the wastelands and mountains surrounding Los Santos. Michael stocked up enough ammo to last them a fortnight long siege, and cleaned and polished every gun in their possession.

Finally, after many days of preparation, they felt ready, and set the date for the following Thursday. In the early hours of the morning, they rose and prepared for the long day ahead of them. While the others ate breakfast, Jack wrestled Ryan into his bulletproof vest and checked every single buckle and strap three times. He couldn’t bear if something happened to the pup, and no amount of preparation and protection could satisfy him. Both Geoff and Michael did their best to reassure him that they wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him, but Jack still worried.

The only thing keeping him from nixing the idea completely was how excited Ryan got when they went out, and how much he hated staying in the cramped apartment while they were gone. His paws tapped the ground and he panted hard and fast. He looked up at Jack with the widest, happiest blue eyes he’d seen in a while. The kind of eyes that were found in the dictionary next to “puppy dog eyes.” Jack beamed down at him and rubbed his scruff.

“You excited, buddy? You excited?” He rolled the pup over onto his back and rubbed his speckled belly. “Yeah, you’re a _big_ bad criminal, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

“I’m telling you, he’s super smart, and he hates people who aren’t us. He’s _begging_ to be a part of the crew,” said Michael.

“Right now, he’s begging for belly rubs.” Ryan’s sock-clad back paw kicked in the air, and his tongue flopped out and hit the floor. “Still, I guess it is better than leaving him at home.”

“Don’t worry, Jack. He’ll be absolutely fine.” Geoff grinned at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “He’s got us watching him.”

“Thanks, Geoff. That’s _really_ reassuring.” Jack gave Ryan’s haunch one last pat and went to check their equipment. Ryan padded after him and snuffled at the open duffel bags. “Are we missing anything?”

“You’ve checked, like, twelve fucking times since last night. Lighten up, Jack!” Michael sat back and knocked down the rest of his coffee. “This is gonna be a cinch.”

Jack snorted and zipped up the bags. “When I’m sewing you assholes back together, you’re not going to be saying that.”

“All right, assholes, stop jerking each other off and listen up.” Geoff stood up and slapped his hands down on the table. He looked over at the three other members of the crew and grinned.

“It’s fucking heist time, bitches!”


	5. The Big Push, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew finally pulls off their first heist.
> 
> It goes about as well as expected.

“Do we all know the plan?” Geoff asked.

“Yeah, yeah, for the billionth time, we all know the fucking plan.” Michael’s voice was a little fuzzy over the intercom, so he tapped it a few times to try and get it to clear up. “Wait until you guys are in the bank to blow the streets, then cover you as soon as you get out. Right?”

“Good.” Geoff checked his gun for the 47th time that morning and looked over at Jack. “You want to go at the same time, or should I go first?”

His partner shook his head. “You go first. I’ll go through the service entrance after you’ve got everyone’s attention.”

He nodded, and then they both turned their attention to the back seat. Ryan lay across the back seats, head resting on his paws. As soon as everyone’s attention was on him, his ears twitched and he looked up. In the span of a few seconds, he was in their faces, panting and nuzzling their cheeks.

“Okay, so who gets Ryan?”

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Jack didn’t talk for a moment. He scratched at the dog’s ruff, and smiled when the pup butted his hand and licked it. “He’ll be better off with you than with me, I think. I need to focus on cracking the vault anyway, so, uh, yeah.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Geoff checked his gun one last time and popped open the door. “Good luck. And if we don’t meet up until later, uh, um, see you back at the house.”

“You too. Now go!”

He stepped out and opened the rear door. Ryan immediately leaped out of the car and stretched.

“You ready to go, buddy?” The pup’s tail wagged. “You ready to go?” His paws tapped the ground eagerly. “You ready to go?” He jumped up and let out a little _boof._ “Then let’s fucking go!”

* * *

 

It was a slow morning at the bank. Only three people stood in the one teller’s line, and the air was heavy with fatigue and the smell of cheap coffee. Crackly muzak played over the ancient speakers. Everyone’s heads nodded towards their chests, only to jerk upright seconds later. The scratch of pen on paper slowly ground to a halt, and the lady standing in front of the teller handed her a check. The one security guard yawned and leaned back against the wall. The clock on the wall ticked its way to 9 a.m., but nobody paid it any heed.

As soon as the clock hit 9, a distant _boom_ sounded from outside. The patrons looked around with confusion, but paid it no heed. Seconds later, another, closer _boom_ sounded, loud and close enough to shake the floor and make the picture frames rattle on the walls. The two people at the back of the ‘line’ mumbled to each other and pulled their phones out of their pockets.

The door opened, and Geoff strolled into the lobby, Ryan trotting in behind him. He wore a buffalo mask, brown corduroy slacks and shiny black shoes, but nothing on his torso save for a single gold chain. Everyone goggled at him for a few seconds, completely bemused by his weird appearance. He cut past the line and stood in front of the teller’s window. Before anyone could say anything, he pulled an assault rifle out from behind his back and blasted both security cameras into shrapnel.

“All right, fuckers, you know the drill. Get down on the ground, no resisting, all that good shit!” Geoff blasted the ceiling for a bit to emphasize his point, and the three pedestrians flung themselves on the ground. The security guard pulled his pistol from his holster and pointed it at Geoff. “Well, fuck you too, then.”

Ryan lunged forward before either man could move, and bit down hard on the security guard’s gun hand. He let out a yell and jumped back right when Ryan tugged down. The gun came away in Ryan’s jaws, along with a good deal of flesh and blood. The guard stared at his hands for a few brief seconds before a shot from Geoff ended his worries for good. He slumped to the ground, blood oozing out from underneath his corpse.

Thankfully, the crew had spent a good deal of time training Ryan not to be bothered by gunshots, and he ignored the dead man in front of him. He brought the gun over to Geoff and dropped it at his feet.

“Good boy.” He picked up the gun and shoved it into his belt. “Anybody else feel like doing that?” The three pedestrians whimpered and pressed themselves into the ground. “Good.”

Geoff then walked up to the counter and plopped a duffel bag on top of it. “Fill ‘er up, please.”

The teller nodded nervously. Her hand flashed beneath the counter to hit the silent alarm button. Geoff watched while she became more frantic and less surreptitious about pummeling the button.

_‘Nice going there, Jack.’_

“I don’t see you getting money,” he said in a singsong voice.

She finally gave up on the button and opened the cash register. Wads of cash winked up at the criminal, and he grinned. She pulled them out and threw them into his bag. She did this to every register she could reach, and Geoff ended up with a hefty amount of cash. He didn’t mind that it took her ten minutes to do so. The more time he took, the better.

He cast a quick glance over the rest of the room. The three onlookers still lay flat on the ground, and Ryan nosed around in one of the ladies’ purses. The dog’s presence seemed to be keeping them from trying anything, which Geoff was grateful for. He grinned beneath his mask and turned back to his slowly filling bag.

Everything was going to plan, so far.

* * *

Jack was not having the best luck at the moment. He’d managed to cut the silent alarm and enter the bank through the service entrance, but then he’d encountered an unexpected wrinkle in their plan. The vault wasn’t big, that much they knew, but it wasn’t manually operated like Geoff had claimed it was. Instead it had a 9-digit keypad with four blinking green lights above the buttons. Jack came to a stop in front of it.

“Fuck.”

“Something wrong?” asked Michael.

“No shit there’s something wrong. The vault has a keypad.”

“The vault has a what now?” asked Geoff.

“The vault’s not manual, Geoff!”

A long pause. “You’re shitting me.”

“Start pushing buttons!” said Michael.

“We don’t know what could happen if we put in the wrong code!” said Jack.

“Would you rather sit there with your fucking thumb up your ass?”

Jack let out a sigh and tugged at the waistband of his leopard print leggings. “Do we have any better ideas?”

“Not really,” said Michael.

“No,” said Geoff.

“…Fuck it.” He hit four random numbers on the keypad. Nothing happened. The green lights kept flashing, and no alarms sounded. On impulse, Jack reached out and twisted the handle. It went down easily, and a loud _thunk_ boomed behind the door. He gave it a push, and it opened.

Another surprise waited for him behind the door. The security deposit boxes had already been opened and lay scattered everywhere, and two bulging duffel bags sat on a nearby pushcart. Jack pulled his gun and edged toward them. This could be a trap.

But who would know about their heist?

“We might have a situation here,” he said.

“You mean besides the one we already have?” asked Geoff.

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

He reached the bags and unzipped one. Wads of money and glimmering jewelry winked up at him. A folded sheet of yellow paper sat on top of the whole deal. Jack picked this up and opened it.

_Consider this my application. ;^)_

Instead of a signature, a rather crude drawing of an ejaculating penis had been drawn beneath the message. Jack studied it for a few seconds more. The implications of this note were rather eerie, but he had no time to think about it now. He stuffed it in his jacket pocket and gathered up the duffel bags.

“I have everything.”

“Really? Already? Fuck, I’m not even done here.” Geoff paused for a moment. “Was there not much in there?”

“Something’s up,” said Michael. “There’s no _way_ you got past that lock that quickly.”

“What? Jack, the fuck’s going on?”

“Not now. Let’s get out of here before the cops show up.”

Jack signed off then and made his way back through the bank.

He was unsettled, to say the very least.

* * *

 

The teller finally finished emptying the cash registers and pushed the duffel bag back towards Geoff. He accepted it without saying anything and slung it back over his shoulder. His jolly demeanor ebbed rapidly due to Jack’s odd behavior. Michael was right. There was no way on God’s green earth Jack could have punched in the right code so quickly. There had to be thousands of possible combinations for that thing, and the odds of finding the right one in one go…well, to be frank, it made Geoff’s head hurt. Plus there was the speed at which he’d emptied the vault. Literally one minute had passed between him confronting the keypad and him claiming he’d emptied the vault.

That left him with two possibilities. One, that there was nothing in the vault and this heist was a financial bust.

Or someone had beat them to it.

The strange thing was, Jack would certainly have _told_ him if the vault were empty, so why hadn’t he said anything?

“Geoff? _Geoff!_ ”

He blinked and looked around. He’d made his way into the middle of the street without noticing. Smoke billowed from either end of the street, and there were still some pedestrians running for cover and screaming. Ryan stood next to him, panting softly. He shook his head and focused.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“We’ve got another problem!”

“That’s not what I want to hear, Michael!” He broke into a jog and made his way toward the rightmost pillar of smoke. About half a mile away was where their getaway car had been stashed, safe and sound beneath a bridge. They’d get in, lose the cops in the wilds of Chiliad, and get away with their loot.

If everything went well. Speaking of-

“So what’s the fucking problem, then?”

“Apparently a cop car was parked somewhere in this shopping center when I blew the bombs. Jack said he saw the lights go off when he got out of the building.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “That’s okay. I can deal with one cop car.”

“Just hope it’s one of those really fat cops, or you’re fucked.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Despite the situation they were in, Michael still managed to laugh. “Nothing. See you later, boss.”

Geoff shook his head. Then he wondered why Jack hadn’t chimed in at that point. “Jack? Are you there?” A buzzing sounded over the earpiece. No response. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Jack’s not responding?”

“What do you think?”

Just then, Geoff saw the familiar flash of red and blue lights reflected in the windows of nearby stores. His heart sank. “Michael, I’m gonna have to postpone this conversation. See if you can meet up with Jack and get to the car. If not, well, you know.”

“Got it.”

Geoff took a deep breath, checked to make sure Ryan was still with him, and started to run. Ryan loped ahead of him easily, but Geoff couldn’t force himself to be angry at that. Made watching the pup much easier. He risked a glance back at the car and felt his heart drop into his stomach.

The back hatch had opened, and a large German Shepherd leaped out and ran right toward them. The four cops in the vehicle weren’t far behind him, but the dog was much faster than any of them. He knew the LSPD had attack dogs – what police force didn’t? – but the sheer fucking luck of the one police car that managed to be in the location when the bombs blew having a dog was staggering.

This was not good.

_‘Fuck. Fuck. I’m either gonna die here, or I’m gonna lead that thing to the others. Fuck me.’_

Then he saw Ryan stop in his tracks. His ears stood up straight, and he looked back at the cops. His muzzle twitched.

“C’mon, Ryan, we gotta go!” Geoff shouted.

And go Ryan did.

Right toward the attack dog. His tail rose until it was almost upright, and he semi-galloped toward his foe. The shepherd switched its attention from Geoff to its fellow canine. Geoff’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip.

“Ryan, no! Bad! Get back here _right now!_ ” He stopped running, but kept backing up while watching the scene transpire.

When the distance closed to a few scant yards, both dogs broke into a fast sprint and hit each other full force. Ryan’s jaws closed on the police dog’s scruff, and he flipped it onto his side. It whined loudly, but rolled over and attacked in turn. They spun around each other in a deadly dance of fur and fangs. Both yipped loudly when the other landed a hit, and both tried their utmost to get at the other’s neck.

The cops slowed their pursuit when they saw their dog in fierce combat with Ryan. Their weapons lowered, and Geoff figured they were trying to do the same thing he was trying to do: get the dogs to stop fighting. God, if he wasn’t sure he’d get shot or have an arm ripped off, he’d go in there right now and separate the two.

His heart burned in his chest when he saw the police dog bite down on Ryan’s head. His pup cried out in pain and was flipped onto his back. The other dog snapped down at him, and they rolled over and over. Dust, dirt, and what Geoff hoped to God wasn’t blood rose up in a cloud around them. The howls of pain tore at his heart, and he was seconds away from intervening. He could deal with bullets wounds. He could deal with bites from an attack dog. He couldn’t deal with losing the crew’s precious skull-faced pup.

Then Ryan got back on his feet and bit the other dog hard. The dog yipped again, and then, to Geoff surprise, it turned and ran away as fast as it could. Its tail was firmly tucked between its legs and its ears were back. Ryan chased after it, snapping at its haunches, right up until it reached and surpassed the police. All of them turned to chase after the dog, so Geoff took his chance and booked it.

Ryan galloped right back to Geoff. He pressed up close to Geoff’s leg, tilted his head up and howled. The sound made him start and jump.

“Dude, be quiet! I know you just kicked that other dog’s ass, but seriously, shut up!” Ryan howled again, so Geoff reached down and held his muzzle shut. The dog blinked, and then looked up at him reproachfully. “Sorry, dude. I don’t want them to follow us.”

He took his hand away for a few seconds and kept moving. He absentmindedly wiped the dampness off his hand and checked it. The heaviness redoubled when he saw the red smears on his palm.

_‘Oh, fuck, if he’s hurt – fuck me, if he’s hurt!’_

He stopped behind a bush and made Ryan sit down. Blood shone on his muzzle, but that was to be expected, so he quickly checked him over for injuries. His pelt had several wet patches, but he was pretty sure that was just saliva. His neck didn’t seem to be hurt at all, though several chunks of fur were missing. He was almost sure it was the other dog’s blood when he finally saw it, and he nearly yelled.

Half of Ryan’s left ear had been torn completely off. Beads of blood welled in the tear and trickled down the fine hairs inside his ear. Occasionally he flicked the stump, and more blood drops flew off and spattered against the ground.

A cold, empty feeling descended over the criminal. He stood up, walked out from behind the bush, took the safety off his pistol, lined up his shot, and fired.

One. Two. Three. Four.

All four cops dropped to the ground, killed by the bullets impacting their skulls. The dog was nowhere to be seen. He presumed it had gone back to hide in the car. Not that it mattered.

“Don’t you ever even _think_ about touching my fucking dog again,” he told the dead bodies. Then he set off at a leisurely pace toward the car’s hiding spot. Ryan trotted along next to him. He didn’t seem quite as perky as he usually was, but then again, Geoff supposed having one of his ears torn off like that would do that to a dog.

He’d kill the fuckers all over again if he could. But the past was the past, and alas, they were dead.

* * *

It took Geoff a good twenty minutes of hiking to make it back to the car. Luckily (or unluckily) Jack and Michael were there waiting for him. They’d already taken their masks off, and Geoff only just realized he was still wearing his own. He took it off and sighed at the feeling of wind blowing over the accumulated sweat on his face.

“Were you guys followed?” he asked.

“Oh, hi Geoff! We’re fine, thanks for asking!” Michael scoffed and shook his head. “We weren’t, but there are a _shitton_ of choppers headed our way, so we should probably get moving.”

Geoff nodded and was about to enter the getaway car when a throat clearing behind him made him freeze in place.

“Geoff?”

He turned back and flinched at the look on Jack’s face. “Yes?”

“What the fuck happened to Ryan?”

“I was about to-“

“What? Ryan’s hurt?” Michael rushed forward and crouched beside Jack. Ryan put his chin on Michael’s knee and blinked up at him. “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to his _ear?!_ ”

Geoff let out a sigh. “Like I was about to say, that one cop trapped with us was a K9 cop. Ryan got in a fight with the dog, and, uh, well…that…happened.”

Jack stood up straight and opened the car door. Ryan walked up and leaped into the backseat. Jack rubbed behind his good ear for a few seconds. He didn’t speak for a good long moment. Michael looked between the two of them, shrugged and hopped into the passenger seat.

“I told you I didn’t want to bring him on the heist, but I let you talk me into it, and this happens. I knew it. I fucking knew it.” He turned, stormed toward Geoff and jabbed him in the chest with his forefinger. “You are a fucking cocksucker, do you know that?”

A flicker of anger thrilled through Geoff, so he got up in Jack’s face and said, “Yeah, like your idea was any better. Do you seriously think we can leave him at home forever? With how he hates the babysitters and tears up the house? He _loves_ us, Jack, and he’s so fucking smart! Yeah, he got hurt, but newsflash! We all fucking get hurt during heists!” They tried to stare each other down, but ended up standing around awkwardly for several minutes.

The distant wail of sirens jolted them into action. Jack stomped into the front seat and started the car, while Geoff stepped into the back. Ryan stood up and bumped Geoff’s cheek with his nose. He smiled and rubbed the pup’s chin and neck.

“You know, uh, if it makes any difference, I tried to stop him. What was I supposed to do, though? Split up a…giant mutt and a fucking German Shepherd? Get shot by cops?”

Jack let out a frustrated huff, but some of the tension left his shoulders. “I’m just…you know I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“We’ll be better about it next time.”

“Uh, Geoff?” said Michael.

Ryan’s gaze flicked to the window, and he let out a growl.

“Well, there’s not going to be a next time, because he’s staying at home from now on.”

“It’s one fucking time, Jack!”

“Jack! Geoff! The cops!” Michael shouted.

Geoff blinked dumbly. “What-“

Ryan lunged forward, grabbed Geoff’s gold chain between his teeth, and yanked it down. Geoff fell forward and down into the floorboard with a shout. Overhead, he heard the sound of glass smashing, and his two crewmembers shouting. He pushed himself upright, only to duck down again when he saw the police cruiser alongside them.

“Fucking _fuck!_ ” He drew his gun and blind-fired in the vague direction of the cops. He got off three shots before the gun clicked uselessly. Geoff tossed it into the floorboard and drew his machine gun. A peep over the door’s edge showed a fractured image of dancing red and blue lights and white paint. He poked several glass shards out of the way, threaded the barrel of his gun through the hole, and started firing.

Michael let out a furious shout of “You fucking _bastards!”_ , and he heard the rough rat-tat-tat of his automatic pistol. Blood splattered over the insides of the cruiser windows, but it kept on driving. A shot rang out, and warm liquid splattered against Geoff’s face. Michael shouted in pain and dropped back against his seat.

“Fuck! Fuck! They grazed my fucking arm! _Shit!_ ”

“We gotta lose them!” Jack shouted.

“I’m working on it!” Geoff yelled back.

Ryan let out a rare bark.

During the commotion, Geoff fired another burst of bullets at the cruiser. The driver’s head exploded into blood and brain matter, and the car veered off to the right. It hit a large boulder and came to a fiery stop. He let out a breath and slumped back into the seat.

“I think…I think we might be okay,” said Jack. “I think we’re going to make it!”

Michael let out a whoop and let his head fall into his lap. “I am going to sleep for a goddamn _eternity._ ”

Geoff put his gun down on the center console and reached out for Ryan. The dog moved forward and butted his hand with his head. Thankfully, the bleeding seemed to have stopped by now, though the scabbed over half-ear still tugged at the criminal’s heart strings.

“You saved me, didn’t you? I’d be missing a head if you hadn’t pulled me down, huh?” Ryan gave him that lovely doggy smile, and actually fucking _winked._ Geoff laughed and scratched his scruff with both hands. “And you saved me before, huh? Yeah, you did. Yeah, you did!” The pup let out a happy grunt, and his sock-clad foot kicked a few times. “You’re the best partner a guy could ask for.”

Amazingly, Jack actually laughed. “You know what? I’m not going to argue with you on that one.”

“ _I_ fucking will, though!” Michael looked back and glared at Geoff. “I took out most of those fuckers!”

“You’re great too, Michael,” said Jack.

“Damn right I am.”

Geoff laughed, and the car fell into a comfortable silence. Ryan clambered into Geoff’s lap and bumped his hand for more pets. He scratched behind his ears, and the dog whimpered and drew back a bit. His good mood faded somewhat when he saw the stump twitch away from his fingers.

“Sorry, buddy. We’ll get you patched up, and you’ll be good as new, okay?” He stroked Ryan’s back and was rewarded with the dog settling back down and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, bud. You saved me, and I’ve done jack shit for you in return.”

The dog licked his hand, and Geoff managed to smile again.

“You’re amazing, you know that?”

He winked again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My reference for the fighting wolves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fsm9opbeyaM
> 
> (Also seriously I love how wolves run.)


	6. Aftermath & Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew licks their wounds after their successful heist, and go back to their apartment. Much to their surprise, someone is there waiting for them.

There was a strong sense of déjà vu when the crew approached the little hut on Mount Chiliad. It had been quite some time since they’d last been here, and it sure showed it. Jack made a note to come back and touch up the siding, and perhaps give the whole thing a new paint job. It was better than having to sleep outside, though.

Marginally.

The first thing they did upon entering the hut was take care of Ryan and Michael’s wounds. Geoff wrapped up Michael’s bullet graze while Jack wrestled with a reluctant Ryan. He swabbed the ear stump with antiseptic, piled gauze on top of the newly bleeding wound, and wrapped it up with bandages. After having to stop Ryan from scratching at it three different times, Jack fashioned a cone out of cardboard and duct tape, and put this around Ryan’s shaggy neck.

“Is that really necessary?” Geoff asked.

“He wouldn’t stop scratching. He’ll never heal unless he leaves it alone.”

Ryan shook himself for the third time, and whined loudly. His back paw scrabbled over the cardboard, and he whined again. Geoff bit his lip.

“He doesn’t seem too happy about it.”

“I know, but if he’s not going to stop scratching, he has to wear the cone.”

Geoff sighed and finished bandaging Michael’s wound. “You’re good to go, dude.”

“Thanks, Geoff.” He swung his arm around a bit. Only the slightest twitch of his temples showed how in pain he was. “C’mere, Ryan.” The dog walked over to Michael and looked up at him with big blue eyes. “Damn, you look like one of those…fucking…old timey dentist patients or some shit.”

“That was the best I could do with what I have,” said Jack. He got up and cleaned the little table of garbage.

“Does he really need the Cone of Shame, though?”

“I know he looks sad, but if he can’t leave his ear alone, he has to wear it.” Ryan’s head lolled towards Jack, and he gave him an incredibly baleful look. “Don’t look at me like that. You _know_ it’s for your own good.”

“Eh, we’ll give him a day, and if he’s good, then we’ll take the cone off,” said Geoff. He flopped down into the moth-eaten armchair and sighed. “Now, _please_ tell me you remembered to buy the beer this time.”

“Don’t worry, the fridge is fully stocked this time,” said Jack. Geoff crossed his arms and glowered. “Oh, fine, I’ll go check. Jesus.”

He headed over to the kitchen and checked the mini-fridge. There was a good deal more food this time, as well as a 12 pack of beer. Ryan padded in after him and tried to poke his snout into the fridge. Emphasis on ‘tried’. The cone caught on the edge of the fridge and kept his questing nose out of the lunchmeat. He grunted and pushed harder, but to no avail. He sat on his haunches and whined.

“I know, I know, you fucking hate the cone. But you won’t stop scratching, so the cone stays on.” Ryan looked up at him with the saddest eyes he’d seen since the day he pulled the pup from the garbage bag. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

The pup’s head drooped, and he turned tail and slowly traipsed back into the living room. His tail hung limply behind him, and he flopped onto a pillow beside Geoff’s chair. He nosed once at Edgar, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Aw, what’s wrong, buddy?” Geoff reached down and threaded his fingers through Ryan’s fur. “You want the cone off?”

“I still think he needs to keep it on,” said Jack.

“But he looks so fucking… _sad!_ Look at him!” Geoff pointed down at him. Ryan’s good ear twitched. “I think he’ll behave himself if we take it off.”

“Fuck it. I can’t stand this shit anymore.” Michael stood up and pulled out a pocketknife. He crouched down, sliced through the duct tape, and pulled the cone off Ryan’s neck. “There. You’re free.”

Ryan’s ear stood up straight, and his tail wagged. He leaped to his feet and lapped at Michael’s face. The demoman’s face scrunched up, but he laughed and ruffled the pup’s fur. Ryan put a paw on either knee and bumped his nose against Michael’s cheek. Then his head dipped down and he snapped up Edgar. He looked back up at Michael and squeaked the toy. He shook his head, grabbed the cow toy and tossed it into a corner of the room. The dog immediately leaped over him and chased the toy down.

“You’re so fucking whipped,” said Geoff.

Michael snorted. “Like _you’re_ not whipped, too.”

“Unlike you, Michael, _I_ actually have standards.”

“Yeah. Sure. ‘Standards.’”

Geoff let out an annoyed noise and turned back to Jack. He frowned when he saw the look on his face. “What is it now?”

“I just…you know I worry about him.”

“I know, but I think he got the message. And come on, he’s got us looking after him!”

Ryan retrieved the toy and charged back towards Michael, and jumped over the coffee table in the process. He scrabbled on it for a few seconds before finally hopping off and upending it. Ignoring the loud smash behind him, he trotted over to Michael and dropped Edgar at his feet.

“He’s definitely feeling better,” said Jack. He let out a sigh and righted the table.

“Fuck, he’s such a little shit,” said Geoff. “God, I love him though.”

Jack finally let out a laugh. “Don’t we all?”

The pup grinned up at them.

* * *

They spent a week hiding out in the little shack. It got claustrophobic quickly, especially since Ryan had grown since he’d last been there. Geoff’s time was largely spent monitoring the situation in Los Santos and waiting for the all clear. Michael claimed to want to patrol the area just in case the cops showed up, but the other two were pretty sure he just wanted to get out of the house. Jack carefully counted their haul and split it into three takes and stuff to pawn off later. In total, their combined take in cash alone was a little over five hundred thousand dollars. That was quite a take for a little bank.

The first night in, Jack fished the crumpled up Post-It from his pocket and showed it to Geoff. It concerned his partner quite a bit. He supposed it could have been one of the tech guys he’d been looking into recruiting, but this was rather alarming. The fact that he’d easily found out their plans when they hadn’t even used computers or phones to plot them out was eerie. Still, Geoff couldn’t help but be impressed. He might just recruit this guy for their crew.

Either that or kill him.

One or the other, he hadn’t decided yet.

Finally, at the end of the week, the all-clear was sounded, and the crew eagerly packed up and prepared to go home. Ryan seemed to feed off their excitement; he bounced around while they loaded up the car and even yipped a few times. Michael let him have shotgun, and the three criminals laughed at the sight of the happy pup sticking his head out of the window the whole way back to Los Santos. Even with his bandaged ear, he looked so fucking happy, it was infectious.

Their shitty apartment was a welcome sight after spending a week in the boonies, and Geoff promised to use a chunk of his take to find them somewhere new. They were moving up in the world, he said, and soon they’d sit on top of Los Santos, rather than living in its underbelly. Still, the shitty apartment was a home of sorts, and they were happy to be there.

“Jesus fuck, I’m ready to just sit down and nap for a year,” said Michael while Geoff fumbled with the keys. “What about you guys?”

Jack shrugged. “I dunno. Check messages, maybe? Figure out who broke into the vault and left that note?”

“I told you I’d take care of it,” said Geoff.

“Yeah, but you say a _lot_ of things, Geoff.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself.”

Jack flipped him off. Geoff made a faux offended sound while Michael rolled his eyes. Ryan bumped his head into Jack’s outstretched hand, so he scratched the pup behind his ear. He was glad the dog hadn’t bothered his bandage since they’d taken his cone off. He’d heal nicely, and have a little war wound to show off for his troubles.

“Home sweet home!” Geoff announced, and pushed the door open. Ryan zipped inside, tail wagging happily behind him. Then he stopped and stood stock still in the living room. He sniffed once, twice, and growled. His lips pulled back to reveal his sharp teeth, and his hackles rose. All traces of joviality immediately faded from Geoff, and he watched the dog closely. Ryan snuffled the couch thoroughly, and growled again.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, and pulled his gun.

“What? What’s going on?” Michael drew his gun as well and poked his head into the hallway. “Is there somebody here?”

“I don’t know yet, but Ryan’s growling like a motherfucker.”

Jack pulled out his gun as well, and they inched their way into the apartment. Michael turned to cover the front door while Jack and Geoff cast their eyes around the living room. It was dark and smelled of dust to them, but that didn’t lessen their tension in the slightest.

Ryan’s nose had stopped over a small divot on the couch. He sniffed it for about a minute, and then sniffed the carpet again. His head whipped around to one of the bedrooms, snarled, and sprinted into the darkness. The others barely had time to react before a loud shriek sounded from the bedroom. All three guns snapped around and pointed at the hallway.

Ryan backed into the living room. His jaws were clamped down on a Union Jack sneaker, which was followed by a jean-clad leg, and that was attached to a person. He was young, probably younger than Michael. His hair and beard were tawny colored, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of expensive sunglasses, which were perched on a nose that was quite a bit bigger than average. A gold chain had gotten tangled in the collar of his silk button-up, and he was fussing with this and squeaking incoherently at Ryan. His shoulder bag dragged behind him.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here, boys?” Geoff strolled forward and yanked the young intruder to his foot.

“Get ‘im off me!” he shrieked. He hopped in place and tugged at his jean leg. Ryan growled and tugged back, and the man held up his hands and swallowed.

They blinked in surprise at his accent. “You’re British?” asked Michael.

“Are you deaf? Get ‘im _off me!_ ”

“Long way from home, aren’t you?” asked Jack.

Their intruder leaned into Geoff, seemingly ignorant of the gun poking his thin belly, and pushed at Ryan’s head. “Look, I’ll tell you whatever you bloody want, just _get ‘im off me!_ ”

“I don’t know,” Geoff said in a sing-song voice.

“Please!”

Geoff pretended to consider it for a minute or so before nodding. Jack moved forward, grabbed Ryan’s collar, and gave it a tug. He whined and tightened his jaws.

“Ryan,” Jack said.

The pup’s ear twitched, and his jaws slackened. The young Brit immediately hopped away and hid behind Geoff. Ryan snorted and tried to pull away from Jack. He decided to hold onto him for the time being.

Geoff grabbed the intruder’s shoulder and shoved him into the armchair. When the young man tried to get up, he casually pointed his gun at him. The Brit held up his hands and sank back into his chair with a huff.

“Now then,” he said, “the fuck are you doing in our apartment?”

Before he could answer, Jack spoke up. “You’re the hacker, aren’t you? You’re the one who broke into the vault and left this note.” He pulled the Post-It note from his pocket and placed it on the Brit’s skinny knee.

Geoff’s eyes flicked from Jack to the Brit and back again. “Well? Are you?”

“Yeah! I was gonna tell you anyway! Chrissake.” He reached down for his bag. All three criminals pointed their guns at him, and Ryan growled. He froze, and wisely pulled back. “Uh, it was two months ago, yeah? You….you put out a call for ‘anyone who knows computers’,” he put air quotes around the words, then smoothed his gold chains, “I’m in a bit of a bind, so I had nothing to lose. I was just gonna reach out to you, but you never responded, right?”

“I got seventeen billion fucking responses to that,” said Geoff. “It’s hard to find diamonds when you have to shift through shit to do it.”

He nodded slightly. “Yeah, so I found out your plans, and well, got all of it wrapped up before you got there. I wanted to _show_ you what I was worth.”

They looked at each other. “Can you prove it?” asked Jack.

“What – can I – you – I overrode the bloody numberpad!” he spluttered. “And, and, and do you know why the LSPD called off the case so quickly? That was me, too! And this is the thanks I get? Christ. Ungrateful bastards.”

Geoff sat down on the couch and studied the richly clad lad in front of him. Michael and Jack glanced at each other. Ryan snarled again and lunged forward. His nose twitched, and he whined. The young man tucked his legs beneath him and eyed the dog warily.

“Fine. If you want me to prove it, I’ll bloody prove it. I just need to get the rest of my things first.”

“This could be a trap, Geoff,” Jack said.

“Oh, sod off,” the young man said.

“Yes, because there’s one of him versus the three of us and Ryan. I’m sure he has something devious planned.” Geoff holstered his gun and leaned back into the couch. “You’ve got one hour to get your shit and prove yourself, Mr, uh, Mr…”

“Gavin.”

“Fine. Gavin, get your shit and show me what you’ve got.”

The lad nodded and leaped to his feet. Ryan lunged again, and Jack actually staggered trying to keep him back. Gavin squawked and jumped back a full foot. He stumbled to the door and ran outside. The door slammed shut, and then it was silent.

“You weren’t fucking serious, were you?” Michael asked. He kept his gun out, but sat down and let it rest in his lap. “You’re not _actually_ going to let him join, are you?”

“Who said anything about letting him join? I want to see if he’s _actually_ the one who cracked the vault, or if he’s just talking out of his ass. _Then_ I’ll decide if he can join.”

“But you’re actually listening to him?”

Geoff shrugged. “Look, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Ryan doesn’t seem to like him,” said Jack. He released the dog in question, and he immediately went over to the door and sat down in front of it.

“I’m fucking desperate, okay? And if he _really_ pulled our stupid asses from the fire, then…” Geoff shrugged again.

Jack huffed and walked over to the kitchen table. His regular phone sat atop it, and he turned it on to check his messages. To his surprise, he had three missed calls and a voicemail from the vet’s office.

“Hey, Geoff?”

“Yeah?”

“I think we might have the results of those blood tests.”

“Fucking _finally!_ Let’s hear it!”

Jack made his way back into the living room, sat down in between Geoff and Michael, and played the message on speakerphone.

_“Hello, Mr. Haywood?”_

Geoff looked over at Jack and mouthed ‘Haywood?’

Jack mouthed ‘alias’ back.

_“This is Dr. Jasper’s office calling you about the blood tests you ordered for Ryan.”_ Ryan’s ear perked up, and he trotted over to the couch and put his head on Michael’s knee. “Well, uh, the results are very interesting, to say the least.”

“Fucking spit it out already,” said Michael. The other two crooks shushed him.

_“He’s…well, there’s no other way to say it. He’s a wolf. One-sixteenth of his heritage is Alaskan Husky, which would explain the markings and his eyes, but…he’s a wolf. Plain and simple.”_

“Fucking _called_ it!” Michael whooped.

“Well, fuck me in the butt,” said Geoff.

“No thank you,” said Jack.

“You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, I know what you – hold on, it’s still going.”

_“-strongly recommend taking him down to the Los Santos Zoo. Wolves are incredibly dangerous, Mr. Haywood, and wolfdogs even more so. All it takes is one incident and you’ll be forced to put him down. If you’d like, you can bring him down here and we’ll take him to the zoo for you. Whatever you decide, please call back at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”_ There was a click, and then the computerized voice read off the options for it.

For a few moments, the only sound were the distant sounds of the city. The honks and swishes of moving cars, a few shouts, the odd gunshot. Then finally, Michael spoke.

“So, we’re going to ignore that last part, right?”

“Of course we’re fucking ignoring it!” Geoff stood up and stormed into the kitchen. “Take him down to the zoo. I’d rather face the entire police department naked.”

“I fucking thought so. Besides, it’s not like it’s the most illegal thing we’ve ever done.”

“We just fucking robbed a _bank!_ I think keeping an illegal wolfdog is at the bottom of our list of crimes!”

Ryan hopped up into Geoff’s vacated spot and laid across Jack’s lap. He looked up at Jack with big blue eyes and grinned that lovely puppy grin. Or maybe it was a wolfish grin now? Jack shook his head and pet the pup behind the ears.

What did it matter if he was a wolf or a dog? He was theirs, and he was here to stay. That’s what was important.


	7. Growing Into It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew starts crawling toward something resembling fame. In the meantime, they try to figure out whether or not Gavin is a good fit for them.

For a while, the reaction to their heist appeared to be minimal. Geoff poured over every newspaper from the last week and watched every single news video under the rather extensive ‘Local Crimes’ section on Weasel News’ website, but their heist was a mere footnote, a blip on the massively overloaded radar that was Los Santos. Still, it blipped, and there was coverage, and even an _investigation._ That was definitely something.

Their crew’s image had to be put on the back burner for the time being as Geoff, Jack and Michael wondered what the heck to do about Gavin. He’d brought what was practically a Wal-Mart’s worth of computer gear from his ‘place’, set it up, and showed them everything he’d cobbled together about their crew. Security camera footage of them staking out the bank. Screen mirrors of all three of their phones showing every text they’d ever sent to each other. A map of Los Santos with all their planned escape routes drawn in red. And a plethora of other files tucked away in a thousand folders, most of which had names relating to male genitalia. It was a downright frightening amount of data, and it made Jack and Michael nervous. Geoff was a little unsettled as well, but the Brit’s knowledge of their operations, along with the sheer tenacity with which he had complied his data, convinced him to keep him around, at least for the time being.

For the most part, Gavin fit in fairly well with the crew. He liked to go drinking with Geoff, had fun butting heads with Jack, and was playfully chased around and yelled at by Michael. In that aspect, he was one of the boys, and he was happy, even if Michael and Jack weren’t one hundred percent on board with him being one of the crew.

Ryan, however, had not been won over in the slightest. He’d stopped snapping at the Brit, but he still lunged at him, if only to see him fall on his ass and run away squawking. He never gave chase, just watched him run and walked away, tail held high and a bit of a strut to his stride. He ruined a pair of Gavin’s tacky Converse by pissing on them, chewed through two pairs of headphones, and, for several nights in a row, woke him up at five in the morning by barking outside his door.

As Jack so succinctly put it, Ryan accepted that Gavin was there, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“I think you’re growing on him,” Michael told him one day. Gavin had come home after a job and Ryan charged straight at him. The techie barely had time to screech before Ryan hit him hard and knocked him to the floor. Now he lay on Gavin’s torso and panted. He wiggled underneath the wolfdog, but no matter how much he tried, the pup would not budge.

“Yeah, well, I well wish he’d grow _off_ me!” he said back. He shoved at the wolf’s bulk, and only managed to make him jiggle. Ryan yawned, long and slow, and put his head on his paws and shut his eyes. “Oh, for _God’s_ sake!”

“He’s faking it.” Michael did his best to hide his laughter and failed miserably. He stooped down and rubbed the white splotches between Ryan’s eyes. The wolf cracked open an eye. “C’mon, Rye-Bread, let him go.” He grunted and shut his eye again. “Ryan, you know Geoff likes him. And he’s fucking harmless anyway.”

“Michael!”

“Shut up, you know it’s true.” Ryan huffed loudly and rolled off Gavin. He shook himself and walked over to Michael for pets. “ _There_ you go. Good boy.”

Gavin pushed himself upright and glared at the wolf. “Prick.”

The wolf looked back at him and growled. His lip curled up enough to show off a bit of white fang. Michael threaded his fingers through his ruff and managed to calm him down. “Man, if looks could kill, you’d be fucking _dead._ ”

“What’s his deal, anyway?”

“He’s just not used to you, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean what’s that supposed to mean? It means he’s not used to you yet!”

At that moment, Geoff walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. “The fuck are you dickheads arguing about?”

“Geoff, why do you have a bloody wolf, Geoff?”

“Uh…why not?” Ryan walked over and hopped up on the couch. “I mean, Jack’s the one who adopted him. Ask him.” The wolf’s wet black nose bumped against Geoff’s hand, and he absentmindedly scratched the pup behind his stump ear.

“Just _look_ at him!” Michael gestured at the wolf’s facial markings. “Look how _cool_ he is!”

“He’s pretty fucking smart, too,” said Geoff. “Saved my stupid ass, at any rate.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause he doesn’t like you.”

“What? I’m not – why would I – I don’t even – _what?_ ” The Brit spluttered and gesticulated while trying to gather his thoughts. Ryan glanced at him, and they swore to God the wolf _smirked._ “I don’t give a shit about him!”

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t.”

“Anyway, not that this isn’t fun, but I actually need you dickheads to do something for me.”

Both Michael and Gavin looked over at Geoff, all levity forgotten. “What is it?” the demo man asked.

“There’s a warehouse on the docks with some…stuff…in it. If we want to be a big, badass crew, we’re gonna need it.”

“So…”

“So you’re reconning! Just scope it out, see what the defenses are like, and all that good shit.”

“Why do you want _me_ to go?” Gavin asked. “God, I just got _back,_ for Christ’s sake! Why’re you sending me out again?”

“Because, as far as I’m concerned, you still haven’t proved yourself to us.” He held up his hand when Gavin squawked again. “I know, I know, you helped us with the heist, and you’ve been working with us ever since, and you’re sort of growing on me, but still, y’know, not quite on board.” Geoff gestured vaguely and sagged into the couch. “You know how it is.”

“No.”

“Well, my decision’s final, so tough shit.” He reached out for the TV remote, but paused and looked back at Michael. “Oh, and take Ryan with you. I, uh, forgot to take him for his walk this afternoon.”

“What?” said Gavin.

“Sure,” said Michael. “C’mon, Ryan.”

The wolf jumped up and sprinted over to the door. Gavin shifted back against the couch and held up his hands. “I’m not sitting in a car with that monster.”

“He’s a wolf, not a monster. And fucking calm down, already. He’s not going to hurt you.” Michael unhooked Ryan’s red harness and beckoned him over. The wolf sniffed the harness and let out a growl. “C’mon, man, I know you hate it, but we don’t need you running off all over the place, okay? You’re too _wild,_ man! Can’t control ya!” He twisted and wrestled until he finally managed to get Ryan into his harness. The red straps nearly disappeared amidst the wolfdog’s fluff, but Michael managed to clip the leash onto the D-ring without any problems. “Where is this warehouse, anyway?”

“Uh, hold on, I’ve got it here somewhere.” Geoff rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a wadded up notecard. He flung it at Michael, who caught it without looking. “Have fun. But not too much fun. Adequate fun. Not-destroying-the-warehouse fun.”

“We’re not going to destroy the fucking warehouse, all right?” Michael put his hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes. “What sort of _monsters_ d’you think we are?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Geoff waved them off and settled back to watch his show.

“C’mon, Gavin!” The Brit let out a startled noise and jumped back a step. “Fucking move already.”

“I was going anyway,” he said under his breath. “Don’t see why I gotta go to the sodding warehouse anyway.”

“Cause it’s protected with cameras, you dumbass!” Geoff yelled. “Also, seriously, you _want_ to be part of this crew, don’t you?” The startled hacker could only nod. “Then shut the fuck up and do your job.”

“Aw, but Geoff-”

“No buts.” He waved them off and focused on his show.

“You heard the boss, Gav. Let’s check the warehouse out.” Michael grabbed Gavin’s arm with his other hand and pulled him toward the door. Ryan tugged at the leash and pawed at the door. “We’re going, we’re going.”

They stepped out into the greasy parking lot and made their way to Michael’s car. It was a shitty old square thing, painted blue with a red stripe down the middle, but it was Michael’s, and he liked it. He popped open the back door and whistled at Ryan. The wolfdog wiggled in place for a moment and gracefully leaped into the back. Michael let go of the leash and shut the door on the pup. Gavin slouched in the passenger seat while Michael started up the car and rolled both rear windows down for Ryan.

They didn’t talk during the fifteen-minute drive to the bay area. Michael focused on the drive, Gavin largely sulked, and Ryan ran back and forth between the two open windows, occasionally stopping to let the wind play in his fur and pant happily at passing cars.

Michael stopped on the beachfront and stepped out into the blinding sun. It was a busy day on the Los Santos beach, which wasn’t all that surprising. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon, and the beach was one of the few places the gangs agreed not to touch. Hopefully they’d just be two dudes and their dog, and nothing that would raise eyebrows. Or get the police called on them.

It would be about a five minute walk to the warehouse, and Michael wasn’t in any sort of hurry, so he unclipped Ryan’s leash from his harness. The pup’s ears twitched, and he immediately set off for the ocean.

“What’re you _doing,_ Michael?” Gavin squeaked. He drew closer to Michael and gripped his bicep. “Why’d you let him off his leash, you bloody lunatic?”

Michael shrugged. “It’s a nice day, and it’s not like we’re doing anything serious. Let him have some fun.” He pushed Gavin’s hand off his arm, but let him stay close. “Also, Ryan’s not going to hurt anyone. You especially.”

The wolfdog in question bounded back toward them. He left a trail of sandy pawprints in his wake, and had something shiny in his mouth. He stopped at Michael’s feet and dropped a dead fish onto the toes of his boots. He looked up at Michael and licked his chops expectantly.

The techie let out a horrified retch and jumped back. Ryan snorted and nudged the dead fish with a paw.

“Nice job, Rye-Bread,” said Michael. He lifted the dead fish up by the fin with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s very nice.”

Appeased, the wolf turned tail and hurled himself back into the surf. Michael flung the fish away and continued walking, ignoring his companion’s gurgling and vomiting. Eventually, Gavin finished his heaving and wobbled after Michael, muttering irately under his breath.

What was probably a five-minute walk ended up taking nearly half an hour. Michael and Gavin weren’t in any hurry to scope out the warehouse, and the wolfdog leaped through the white surf and snapped at fish, foam and debris alike. Michael called him back over once they reached the dock area, and clipped the leash back on his harness. Ryan grunted and flicked his good ear, but he allowed Michael to leash him again and stayed by his side while they mounted the warped wooden stairs up to the docks.

“So, which one of these is our warehouse, then?” Gavin asked.

“Uh…” Michael pulled the wrinkled card out of his pocket and squinted down at it. “Fuck, Geoff’s handwriting’s awful…couple more, I think? Yeah, yeah, it’s that one over there.” He pointed towards one of the newer buildings.

“Let’s get this over with, then. I could do with a damn break.”

They drew closer. Gavin made note of the security cameras posted by the front doors and on both sides of the building. Michael noted the make of the doors and considered breaching them to see what was inside. All in all, while more modernized than the weather worn wooden buildings around them, it didn’t look like it would be that hard of a heist. Or whatever the fuck Geoff intended to do with it.

Then Ryan snarled. They both jumped and looked down at the wolfdog. His fur stood on end, his hackles raised and his muzzle pulled back to reveal his teeth. His ears rotated, and he turned his head to face one of the other buildings.

The hair on the back of Michael’s neck stood on end. He put his hand on his gun and glanced around. “Something’s up,” he hissed.

“What?”

A movement beside one of the other warehouses caught Michael’s eye, and he whirled around. Two men strolled out from the neighboring dock and froze at the sight of Michael, Gavin and Ryan. They were dressed in dark clothing and had thin, grim faces. Both of their hands jumped almost in perfect unison to their waistbands.

“The fuck are you two doing here?” one of them asked.

“Just walking my dog,” said Michael. He reached down and put his hand on Ryan’s harness.

“And what’s the twink doing with you?” the other asked.

Gavin let out an indignant sound, but any protest he was about to make was cut off by Michael’s elbow ramming into his stomach. “He just wanted to walk with me. The fuck are you asking for?”

“You’re on our fucking turf, that’s why.” They stepped closer. Ryan tried to lunge, but Michael held him back. Froth dripped from the wolf’s bared teeth, and his good ear pressed flat against his head. Michael’s fingers shifted down to the clip keeping the leash attached to the harness.

More footsteps sounded from behind and to either side of them, and several more black-clad men closed in a circle around them. Gavin’s fingers dipped into his waistband, where his gun rested against his stomach. Michael did his best to hide this movement, but he supposed there was no point. He could feel the tension heating the air around them, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it erupted in violence. Ryan huffed and growled and shifted in place, eyes flicking from enemy to enemy.

One of the guys gave them a once over. His eyes suddenly widened, and he pulled out a Glock.

“That guy’s one of the assholes who did that bank heist! Remember, a few weeks back?”

Guns appeared amongst every single person on the dock. “So, was that bank not enough for you greedy fucks? Had to rub your greasy dicks all over our stuff?”

“Hey, _hey_! My dick is _not_ greasy!” Michael slowly pushed the leash’s clasp open. Ryan must have realized what he was doing, because he stood stock still, his eyes fixed on one of the men who’d first accosted them. “I have _excellent_ genital hygiene.”

“Michael,” Gavin said. “Don’t antagonize them!”

“I’ll antagonize the shit out of ‘em! They’re pointing fucking _guns_ at us, Gavin! We’re past the fucking ‘Oooh mistah we’re _so_ sorry!’ stage.”

“You’re right about that, at least.” The main guy clicked the safety off on his gun and pointed it at Michael’s chest. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your bodies.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Michael yanked the leash free and dived toward the nearest building. Ryan surged forward and leaped. His paws slammed into the man’s chest, and he went down with a scream. Two other men were taken out with headshots from Michael before the others cottoned on to what was going on, and then the docks erupted in gunfire and shouting.

Gavin somehow managed to duck a hail of bullets and took cover behind a nearby wall. Ryan had already vanished into thin air, leaving behind a wide-eyed corpse with a bloodied mass of meat in place of a throat. There were already four dead bodies lying in pools of blood, but other men swarmed, seemingly out of the woodwork, and took positions near their fellows. He pulled out his gun and returned fire as best he could. He winged one of the guys and killed another. He briefly considered calling Geoff and asking for help, but the storm of bullets dissuaded him for the moment.

He backed further into the alley, considering his options. The car had been left way back on the beach, and he didn’t want to leave without Michael anyway. If he had better weapons, he’d feel a lot more confident fighting until every last member was dead, but the gun was more a precaution than anything else, and he’d packed a pittance of ammo. The hacker’s heart thumped in his throat, and his legs trembled. He couldn’t see things getting worse.

So, naturally, things got worse.

An arm wrapped around his throat and yanked him powerfully backwards. Before he could yell or shoot or do anything, really, the still-warm muzzle of a gun pressed against his temple, and any thoughts of…anything, really, flew out of his brain.

“Listen close, you little shit,” a voice growled in his ear. “If you want to get out of this, you’re gonna do exactly as I say. Got it?” He nodded. “Good. We’re gonna walk back out there, and we’re going to convince your friend to stop shooting. Then you’ll both come along quietly to our boss’s place for a heart to heart chat. Hell, maybe we’ll give him a nice wolfskin rug while we’re at it.”

He started pulling Gavin back towards the no man’s land, ignoring the Brit’s dug in heels. His thoughts were frantic, desperate, trying to find some way to get out, some plan to escape, but he saw nothing…

A snarl sounded behind them, and the gangster turned to face it. Gavin couldn’t help the fearful adrenaline that clenched his heart at the awful sight behind them. The wolfdog stood silhouetted in the “alley”. Blood dripped from his muzzle and soaked the fur of his chin and chest. He stepped forward a few paces and growled again. His red-stained teeth glittered in the afternoon light.

“Stupid dog,” the man sneered. His gun moved away from Gavin’s head to point between Ryan’s eyes.

The moment the gun moved away from him, Gavin brought his pistol down hard on the man’s penis. He let out a garbled shriek and fell back, clutching his crotch. Ryan charged forward the same moment Gavin stumbled away and fell. For a moment, the Brit swore the world slowed down. He saw Ryan’s knees bend, watched him spring into the air, flinched when long teeth tore into pale flesh. Blood spouted into the air, and a shriek cut off almost immediately, replaced by pained gurgles. In moments, it was over. Gavin’s would-be captor lay dead on the ground, blood streaming from the gaping hole where his neck had been.

Ryan snorted and shook himself. He bent his head and snapped up the semi-automatic from the dead man’s fingers. He turned back and walked over to Gavin, who was busy trying to catch his breath. At first, he drew away from the beast. The fresh blood literally dripping from his muzzle was not a particularly endearing sight. The wolfdog huffed loudly and nudged Gavin’s hand with his nose. When Gavin still didn’t react, he growled and dropped the gun in his lap. He twitched and stared dumbly down at the weapon. Ryan put a paw on top of the semi-automatic and nudged it toward Gavin’s right hand. Finally, the techie reached up and grabbed it.

Ryan turned away and padded back down the space between the warehouses. Gavin hastened to follow him, and saw another dead man lying near the entrance to the “alley”. More bloody marks stood out on his pale skin, and the Brit shuddered when his eyes locked with the corpse’s blank lifeless ones. Ryan hopped over him and glanced around before heading to the right. There were still sounds of gunfire echoing through the area, but there weren’t as many of them this time. Unfortunately, one problem was replaced with another: the distant sounds of police sirens slowly called over the beach, steadily growing louder and louder. Unless they wanted to spend the night in LSPD lockup, they needed to get out now. He swallowed and tailed after the wolfdog.

They reached the end of the dock area, rounded around one of the shoddier warehouses, and headed back to the main area. Two men had taken cover behind some old steel barrels and shot at the side of another warehouse. Ryan’s pace slowed, and he crouched to the ground. He glanced up at Gavin, then looked at the man to the right. He pointed his gun at the man’s back. He swore the wolf nodded at him before turning back to the other. Gavin opened fire and blew the man’s skull wide open while Ryan leaped on the other man’s back and ended his life with a swift bite to his neck.

“Is that all of them?” he asked.

Ryan huffed and walked to the edge of the pier. He snuffled at the boards and the entrances to the warehouses. His ears jumped upright and he ran to the warehouse where the men had been shooting. Gavin sped after him, heart in his throat.

He turned the corner and nearly gasped out loud when he saw Michael sitting with his back to the warehouse wall, blood pooling around one of his arms. Well, he kind of saw Michael, because most of the demoman’s body was obscured by the giant black wolf sitting on top of him. His mind flashed back to the sight of long white fangs tearing into flesh, and for a moment he considered shooting the wolf right then and there. His fingers curled for a moment around the trigger.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Ry-Bread, I’m okay, it’s just a graze!”

The words pulled Gavin out of his fears, and he finally saw the wolf’s pink tongue lathing Michael’s freckled cheeks, and saw the smile on his face. Ryan’s tail wagged when Michael stroked his fur and gave his flanks a few pats. Gavin lowered his gun, and felt a sudden twinge of guilt low down in his guts.

“Michael, did they get you, Michael?”

“Huh?” Michael’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yeah, but it’s just a scratch. It’s nothing, I swear.” He pushed Ryan off him and pulled himself upright. He stepped toward Gavin and showed him a bloody tear in the sleeve of his jacket. “Fucking assholes. I _like_ this jacket, goddammit.”

“Still, we’d better leave. Cops are showing up, and you know Geoff _hates_ it when we get locked up.”

“Shit, really?” Michael cocked his head, and scowled when he heard the sirens. “Fuck. Let’s hit the road, then.” He walked out into the main area, but wobbled and would have fallen if Gavin hadn’t caught him. “Fuck _me._ ”

“C’mon, boi. We’ll get you home, and Jack can patch you up, yeah?”

“I’m fucking fine…just a little dizzy, that’s all…” Ryan whined and bumped his nose into Michael’s palm. Blood dripped down his jacket sleeve and splashed onto the worn wooden planks. “Okay, he _might…_ have cut something important.”

Gavin wrapped Michael’s good arm around his shoulders and dragged him back toward the stairs. Ryan trailed behind them, letting out the occasional whine.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you home.”

* * *

It was fairly late in the afternoon by the time Gavin, Michael and Ryan returned home. Jack was playing what looked like _Call of Duty,_ but he immediately paused the game and stood up upon seeing the blood still oozing from Michael’s jacket.

“What happened?” he asked. “I thought Geoff was just sending you out for reconnaissance!”

“Some arseholes were watching the place. Shot us up and injured Michael.” Gavin propped Michael up against the kitchen table and stepped back to let Jack tend to him. “We managed to take care of it, but we, uh, made a right mess of the docks.”

“Fuck. Guess Geoff got bad intel on that warehouse.” Jack pulled his first-aid kit off the shelf and popped it open. Michael shifted about an inch away and grabbed his injured arm.

“M’fine,” he said. “S’not a problem.”

“You’re bleeding like crazy, Michael.” Jack batted his hand away and pulled the jacket off his shoulders. Gavin retched at the sight of the jagged wound torn into the meat of Michael’s arm. It looked much worse than it had with the jacket covering it. Ryan sniffed Michael’s hand, leaned his head back, and let out a howl.

“He’s gonna be okay, Ryan.” Jack briefly patted Ryan’s head before pulling a pair of gloves out of his kit and tugging them on. Ryan whined again and walked over to Gavin. He leaned his bulk against the Brit’s leg and nearly toppled him. After a moment’s consideration, Gavin put his hand on Ryan’s head. Surprisingly, the wolfdog’s tail wagged a bit, and he looked up at Gavin with big blue eyes. The dried flakes of blood clinging to the fur of his muzzle was still off-putting, but he didn’t look quite so batshit insane now.

It took Jack about twenty minutes to get the wound cleaned and to sew it shut. He gave Michael some painkillers beforehand, and by the time he stitched the last wound shut the demoman had nodded off and snored peacefully. Gavin had graciously lent Michael his shoulder, but scowled and shifted him off when he drooled on his shirt. Jack wrapped the wound up with gauze and bandages, and led Michael to the couch. He flopped down and let out a loud snore.

Not five seconds after that, the front door banged open again, and Geoff strolled into the room.

“Great news! I finally found my..” He trailed off when he saw the group clustered around the couch. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Geoff, why didn’t you tell us the warehouse had a billion bloody guards, Geoff?” Gavin glared at his boss and crossed his arms. “They blasted the shite out of us, Geoff.”

“Guards? It wasn’t supposed to be guarded.” Geoff frowned and moved to look at Michael. “Guess that answers my question, though.”

“Not that it matters anyway,” said Gavin. “Cops showed up right as we left.”

“If that’s the case, they’ll probably confiscate everything in the area as evidence,” said Jack.

“Fuck. I really wanted that warehouse, too. Dammit.” He sat down in his chair and brushed the hair off his forehead. “This’ll set us back a bit.” Ryan walked over and put his head on Geoff’s knee. He reached down and scratched behind his ear stump, and the pup’s eyes closed happily.

“What did you find, Geoff?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yeah! So, me ‘n’ Gavvers here got _royally_ fucked up a few nights ago, and we had the _best_ discussion on what we’re going to name our little group!”

“Do we really need a name?”

“You – wha – of course we need a fucking name! We can’t just be ‘Those Fuckers Who Fuck Shit Up’ forever!”

“I don’t know, ‘Those Fuckers Who Fuck Shit Up’ is kinda catchy,” said Jack.

Gavin, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling and frowned. “I don’t remember this.”

“You wouldn’t, you fucking lightweight.” Geoff laughed when he squawked indignantly. “Anyway, we came up with some fucking _amazing_ names, and I had the presence of mind to write ‘em all down. I lost the paper for a bit, but I finally found it in my car!” He pulled a cocktail napkin out of his pocket and offered proudly to Jack. “Tell me what you think of ‘em.”

Jack took the napkin and carefully uncrumpled it. “Geoff, this is completely illegible.”

“What? No, it should all be there.”

Gavin wandered over and peered over Jack’s shoulder. “What? Geoff, this is utter _nonsense._ ” He laughed and tugged the napkin out of Jack’s hand. “God, this is absolute bloody gibberish! Nothing on here makes sense!”

Geoff stood up and pulled the napkin out of Gavin’s hand. He squinted down at the scrawling on it and frowned. “Fuck. This was brilliant a few nights ago.” He brought it up to his nose and squinted his eyes almost shut. “Wait…wait…I think…I think I see an f.”

“Where do you see an f in that mess?” asked Gavin.

“Yeah, I think…maybe…if that’s an f…maybe that says ‘Fake’? Fake…Fake ah…Fake AH Crew! There, that’s our fucking name!” Geoff slammed the napkin down on the table and sat back down in his chair. Ryan wandered over and sniffed the napkin. His nose wrinkled, and he turned tail and ran back toward his food bowl.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” said Jack.

At the same time Gavin said, “Did you make that up?”

“Obviously I made it up! And I don’t hear you coming up with anything better!”

“Is there a Real AH Crew? Also, what the fuck is AH?”

“You know what? Shut up. Everyone shut up. I fucking quit.” He shot to his feet and stormed off to the kitchen.

Jack shook his head and crumpled up the napkin.

“Fake AH Crew. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”


	8. Fake AH Crew Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of being bottom feeders, the Fake AH Crew finally gains infamy and makes their way to the top of the criminal ladder. After a good few years, they have grown into a huge organization worthy of fear and respect. 
> 
> When an opening appears in the main crew, it's an opportunity one of them has been waiting for.

Bit by bit, the newly dubbed Fake AH Crew climbed the criminal ladder. A trickle of lowlifes and down on their luck youths came to them over time, and they painstakingly took little bits and pieces of other gangs’ territories. They still had to be careful, and worked more often in the shadows and the sidelines than not. If not for Geoff’s almost constant reassurances and dreams of standing atop Los Santos as rulers of the entire city, they’d have burned out and given up long ago.

Still, the first year was rough. There were several run-ins with the police, quite a few of which ended with someone spending the night in lock-up. Three attempts to capture some new turf resulted in firefights that the crew was forced to retreat from, tails between their legs. Exasperated by the crawling pace of their city takeover, Geoff started looking for more outside help. Anybody or anything that could give them a better, sharper edge over their competition was eagerly sought out for recruitment. No price was too much for Geoff, but even so, there were many candidates who either didn’t meet the mark, or simply checked the Fakes out and deemed them to be not worth it.

Some months later, Geoff finally got the bite he was looking for. A sniper up in Liberty City named Ray got in contact with him, expressing a desire for a change of scenery, and perhaps an apartment bigger than a bedroom that didn’t cost several thousand dollars a month. Geoff offered him a place to stay and a steady paycheck, and that was that. He was in Los Santos within the week.

With five men and one wolfdog in their crew, their ascent through the ranks turned into something that could only be called meteoric. They grew bold enough to pull off bigger and riskier jobs, and each take grew larger and larger. Soon enough they left the Los Santos slums behind and eyeballed the chrome and black apartments, and especially the penthouses. Sadly they weren’t quite up to penthouse levels of money, but Geoff remained optimistic.

With more and more money rolling in, their tastes became more and more refined. Stuttery, ancient cars were traded in for sleek super machines with purring engines and leather seats. Weapons were clad in every color of the rainbow, and ranged from practical to completely outrageous. Nobody in their right minds knew when the occasion for an accurate reconstruction of an 18th century bayonet might arise, but that didn’t stop the entire crew getting one apiece. Expensive and rare liquors soon sucked away a large chunk of Geoff’s money, not that he particularly cared. They were finally rising above the usual Los Santos grime, and that was more than enough reward. His heart swelled every time he saw their name headlining every paper in the city.

In a year and a half, they left their fancy apartment behind and finally made it to the penthouse of their dreams. It sat right in the heart of their city and spanned nearly ten thousand glorious square feet of building. It had three floors, ten bedrooms, God only knew how many other nooks and crannies, and, most importantly, a full bar. In the true fashion of the newly rich, they gave Ryan his own room, complete with a doggy door and closet full of toys.

They didn’t let the luxury get to their heads. While they were off the streets, they knew the carpet could be ripped out from under their feet at any moment. The LSPD was less dangerous to them now, yes, but they were still somewhat of a threat, not to mention the fact that they were now drawing the attention of the FIB and the nearby military base. There were also the numerous gangs who badly wanted their heads, and not in a sexy way. They were still criminals, and they still had their jobs to do. The difference now was that they were the ones near the top fending off desperate bottom feeders.

Still, the Fake AH Crew had plenty of opportunity for leisure, and they were content with their new place in the underworld. The good times stretched into the horizon, and they thought the party would never end.

It came as a bit of a shock, then, when Ray told them he was leaving the crew. Complacency was not for him, so he packed up and moved on to a new life. He promised to stay in contact, and the crew offered support if he ever needed it, and that was it. Only a week after the announcement, his things had been cleared out of the penthouse, and he was gone.

This left the crew in a bit of a pickle. Five main members could tackle almost any heist, and the varying skill sets left everyone feeling confident and sure in their positions. Four felt a little too vulnerable, plus their long-range awareness had dropped quite a bit. Several heist ideas were put back on the drawing board for the time being, and other jobs were called off, to the disappointment of the other various members of the crew.

In the meantime, Geoff started putting out feelers for a new number six. He hoped he’d be able to find one within his own crew, but in case nobody made the cut, he made sure to keep his options open. Six months later, he’d made no progress on that front, and the crew settled back into their four-man band.

They’d be okay. They’d survived much worse before.

* * *

Jeremy was excited. For the first time since he’d signed up with the Fakes, he’d been summoned to their main HQ. A year of grunt work and near misses had led to what he was sure was moving up the ladder. His sometimes friend Matt was a lot more skeptical, as he’d never heard of promotions being given out from the penthouse, but Jeremy remained optimistic.

“I’m telling you, this is it,” he said. “We’re gonna make it _so_ big, Matt!”

“I don’t know.” Matt fiddled with the wire of his headphones and huddled against the gold-tinted wall of the elevator. “Nobody’s ever been summoned to the penthouse before. It doesn’t fucking happen.”

“Then this _has_ to be a special case, right? Right?”

Matt just shrugged.

“God, I hate you sometimes.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors rolled open at that moment. A lone door stood at the end of a short hallway. Jeremy rocked on his heels and grinned. “This is it!” He walked to the gleaming mahogany door, and ignored Matt humming the funeral march along the way. He knocked on the door, and it swung open without further ado.

They were almost immediately confronted by the gigantic expanse of the main crew’s penthouse. A vast white couch sat in front of one of the biggest flat screen TVs Jeremy had ever seen. Both sides of the couch had tiny chrome mini-fridges next to them. Directly in front of them sat a set of stairs leading into another room, but they couldn’t make out any details. A kitchen stocked with silver appliances lay behind an island and a bar stocked with an insane amount of liquor bottles. Several abstract paintings Jeremy was sure had just been on display at the museum two months ago rested on the walls.

“Where the fuck is everyone? And why the fuck did the door just open?”

“I, uh, I don’t…really know.” He wandered over to the couch and glanced down at the papers scattered on the table. He squinted, but he couldn’t make out what the designs were supposed to be. “Boss said to be here at two.”

“And what time is it?”

Jeremy pulled his glove down and checked his watch. “Two o’ five.”

“Well…shit.”

They stood awkwardly in the room for a few minutes. Matt moved his headphones onto his ears, and music soon blasted from the cheap red headset. Jeremy took out his phone and fiddled with it. He read the message again, and confirmed that they were supposed to be at the penthouse at two. So where the fuck was everybody? Had they been duped?

_‘Probably shoulda figured that out **before** coming here,’ _he thought.

A jingling around the corner made Jeremy nearly jump out of his skin. He put his phone away, and elbowed Matt in the gut. He huffed in annoyance, but the music died immediately afterward. They straightened and made an effort to look at least somewhat professional.

The jingling moved around the corner, and Jeremy felt a thrill run down his back. He’d only seen the Fake AH Crew’s pet wolfdog once, and that was from pretty far away and during a B-Team debriefing. Seeing him from about five feet away was a different experience altogether. His long black claws clicked on the varnished wood floor, and his maw clamped around a large bone. The markings around his eyes and muzzle really did look so much like a skull, to the point where it was chilling.

The wolf froze the moment he saw Matt and Jeremy standing in the living room. His bone thudded to the ground while his fur stood on end. Black lips pulled back to show off long white teeth. He moved forward with the careful steps of a predator ready to kill, still growling. His blue eyes burned with an animal ferocity.

Matt’s hand flashed to his waist. “We are going to fucking die here. Oh my God.”

“Don’t…do…anything,” said Jeremy. “You’ll just make him mad if you pull your gun.”

“Make him – it’s a fucking wolf!” Matt pointed at him and gestured wildly. “It’s already mad!”

“I hear he’s really smart, though. Maybe I can calm him down!”

“You want to try that, Dr. Doolittle? Be my fucking guest. I am not going to be eaten by a wolf.” Matt backed toward the door, hands slowly rising like the wolf held him at gunpoint. Another growl made him freeze in place.

“Hey, uh, it’s okay, boy.” Jeremy crept forward and held out his hand. “We’re part of the crew. We’re not here to, uh, to take anything, or hurt anybody, okay? We just want to talk to Geoff.”

“If you die, I’m going to put ‘Killed while trying to talk his way out of being eaten by wolf’ on your tombstone,” said Matt.

“Shut up!”

Meanwhile, the wolf edged closer. Its jaws parted, and a few strands of saliva dripped onto the floor. Jeremy pulled his right glove off and offered his naked palm to the wolf. Either it would smell his hand, or it would bite him. He sure as fuck hoped it wouldn’t bite him. The smelling thing worked with cats, surely it would work with dogs too, right?

The wolf drew even closer, and Jeremy swallowed. The wolf’s shoulders reached his midriff, and his open jaws looked wide enough to take off his hand in a single bite. Dread edged into his stomach and threatened to weigh it down. He fought against the feeling.

For a few torturous seconds, the wolf’s nose skimmed over his palm. Hot breaths ghosted over the skin, and the horrible weight in his stomach grew heavier. Despite his earlier bravado, he was about ninety percent sure the wolf was about to make him a one-armed bandit at this point.

The beast huffed loudly and moved to inspect his chest and stomach. Jeremy slowly held up his hands and looked over at Matt.

“What? The fuck do you think I could do?”

“Good point.” He looked back down at the wolf, and met his bright blue eyes. “Gotta admit, I’m _this_ close to pissing myself. Holy fuck.”

The wolfdog’s nose returned to his hand. He tensed and waited for fangs to rip into his flesh. However, it didn’t seem that was the case. The wolf grunted and got the bridge of his muzzle into Jeremy’s palm. He shifted the hand up and flipped it onto his head. He blinked. The wolf looked up at him and flicked his good ear. He moved his fingers behind the ear and scratched the thick hairs there. The wolf grinned up at him.

“Holy shit, you’re not dead.” Matt walked back over to them.

“I guess I smell friendly or something.” He moved his other hand behind the wolf’s ear stump and scratched there, too. The wolf’s eyes fluttered shut, and his white foot lifted off the ground and kicked once or twice.

A door opened behind them, and they jumped again. Upon turning around they saw Geoffrey Ramsey himself descending one of the staircases. He grinned when he saw the two of them standing in the living room.

“Oh! There you are. I was…wondering…when…” He trailed off when he saw the wolfdog begging Jeremy for pets. “You’re petting Ryan?”

“Uh…Yes?”

“Ryan never lets _anyone_ he doesn’t know pet him.” Ryan’s ears twitched when Geoff said his name. He pulled away from Jeremy’s hands and wandered over to the Fakes’ boss. He gave the wolfdog a few pats on the head, and the pacified pup trotted down the hallway. “Seriously, _never_.”

“He’s not that friendly?”

“Not if he doesn’t know them.” Geoff flopped down on the couch and propped his heels up on the coffee table. “Anyway, back to business. You know why you guys are here?”

Matt and Jeremy looked at each other and said, “No,” in unison.

Geoff let out a breath. “Fuck. Well, as you know, we have an open slot on the main crew.” They nodded. “I’ve been looking for a replacement for a while, and ideally, I’d like to pull someone from the crew.”

A thrill zinged down Jeremy’s spine. “So…?”

“So, I’m going to be keeping a close eye on the B-teams for a while.” Geoff raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Maybe if one of you assholes does _really_ well, I’ll try you out with the main crew. And if you continue to impress…” He gestured around the penthouse with one hand. “All this could be yours.”

God, that was more than Jeremy could have ever _dreamed_ of. Barely a year ago, he’d still been on the streets, watching the Fakes from afar with nothing short of admiration, wondering if he’d ever even break through the bottom ranks. Now he stood in front of the boss of the entire crew and was offered the opportunity of a lifetime. Sure, it wasn’t given to him _directly,_ but he still had a chance. _And_ he was the one learning it straight from the source. That had to count for something, right?

Matt, ever the realist, decided this was the time to pop Jeremy’s little dream bubble. “And you decide we’re all fucking morons and not worth dealing with?”

“Then it’s straight to plan B. Hire someone outside the crew. Fuck, I haven’t researched this much in goddamn _years._ I’d rather not have to start up all that shit again.” He gave the two of them a serious look and straightened his bow tie. “You fuckers better impress me.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Jeremy. Privately he hoped he didn’t sound _too_ eager. He’d get nowhere if they thought he was an asskisser.

“Good. Now get out of my house.” Geoff turned away from them and flipped on the TV.

“Uh…okay. Thanks for having us?”

A squeak from behind them made Matt and Jeremy jump about a foot into the air. They turned and saw Ryan standing behind them. A bedraggled, raggy brown cow toy hung from his mouth. It was missing one beady black eye and a good deal of off-white fluff escaped its body from a hole in its side. He stepped forward and dropped the toy on the toe of Jeremy’s boot.

“Uh…thanks?” He pinched a flimsy hoof between his thumb and forefinger and lifted the cow into the air.

“He wants you to throw it,” Geoff said. “He’ll annoy you until you do it.”

“Oh, uh, okay then.”

Jeremy cocked his hand over his shoulder, and the pup put his rump in the air and wagged his tail. He pretended to lob the toy down the staircase and quickly hid his hand behind his back. To his surprise, the wolfdog stood upright and growled. He lifted a paw and scratched at Jeremy’s jacket.

“Yeah, he doesn’t fall for that one anymore.”

“Really? He must be really smart, then,” said Matt. He reached down to pat the wolf’s head, but withdrew when he gave the shabby criminal a withering glare.

“He is and he isn’t,” said Geoff.

Jeremy finally relented and tossed the toy down the stairs. Ryan’s ears stood on end and he careened down the stairs to get it. His black-and-white tail waved once, and he was gone.

“Okay, so let’s get this straight before we go.” Matt toyed with the wire of his headphones and glared at his boss. “You only called us here, to the penthouse, where only the main crew works, the most prestigious place the Fakes own, where the rest of us fucks haven’t even stepped foot, because you wanted us to tell the guys you’re recruiting and you’ll be watching us extra close.”

Geoff turned around and gave them a look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Geoff, you have a fucking phone! Why didn’t you just call us?!”

Geoff snickered and turned back to his show.

“Did he just call us down here just to make us come down here?” Matt asked Jeremy.

“Probably.” Jeremy shrugged and turned back to the door.

“Of course he did. Fuck me, how much time have we wasted?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to answer, but a litany of squeaks drowned him out. Ryan ran back up the stairs and dropped the cow toy at his feet. He squatted down again and wagged his tail. His tongue flopped out of his mouth and dribbled on the floor in between his paws.

“Sorry, Ryan. We gotta go.” Jeremy and Matt moved toward the door. Ryan picked up the toy and squeaked it again. “We’re leaving.”

“C’mere, Ryan. The boys’ll be home soon, and then we’ll take a W – A – L – K.” Geoff’s offer went unheard. Ryan bumped Jeremy’s hand with his nose and whined. “Jesus, Ryan, come here already!”

The wolf stood on his hind paws and put his front paws on Jeremy’s shoulders. Jeremy couldn’t help but swallow nervously. The beast was fucking _humongous_ , definitely much taller than he was. And he was heavy, too. Jeremy staggered under his weight, but managed to keep himself from falling by grabbing Matt’s jacket. He got a face full of snuffling, whining skull-marked muzzle leaving a cold nose print on his right cheek.

“Ryan! Down!” He whined again and leaned more of his weight into Jeremy. “Ryan, get down right now, or you can kiss your treats goodbye!” The wolf’s good ear flattened against his head, and he dropped back down onto the floor. His tail hung between his legs, and his eyes were downcast.

He looked so sad and forlorn, Jeremy just had to do something. He knelt and scratched the wolfdog behind his half-ear. “We’ll be back, okay, buddy? We’ll see you again.” He rubbed the markings between his eyes and smiled. Then he grabbed the toy and tossed it into the kitchen. The pup turned on his heels and trotted off into the kitchen. They took the opportunity and left.

“‘We’ll be back,’ huh?” Matt asked. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Jeremy. “Do you seriously think you’re going to be picked for the new number six?”

Jeremy shoved his shoulder and scowled. “I don’t think _anything_. I’m just going to do my best and hope.” He reached out and pressed the button to call the elevator. “Fuck me, I hope this doesn’t cause too much chaos.”

“It’s the fucking Fake AH Crew, of _course_ there’s going to be chaos.”

A loud howl sounded from behind them, followed by a burst of swearing. Matt let out a chuff of laughter. “Jesus, he must _really_ like you.”

“That has to be good, right? Geoff said he doesn’t like anyone outside the main crew.”

“Oooh, it could be a _sign._ ” Matt shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Jeremy kept quiet. His mind went to the job he and the other members of B-team would be taking that Saturday. In all likelihood, it would be fairly routine, but even so, the fact that the main five would be watching made his stomach roll. The pressure would be on to really nail each and every little detail.

Still, he’d rise to the occasion.

He’d do anything if it meant he could stand beside his heroes.


	9. A Job Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What started out as a simple job to prove themselves to the Fakes turns into something much more serious.

The job sounded simple enough. A lesser crew had broken ties with the Fakes and were holding up in some rundown hangar in the desert. Jeremy and his friends were the metaphorical cleaners, tasked with going in and wiping them all out. The definition of busywork, really.

Still, Jeremy couldn’t help but feel excited. He’d already tucked his gloves into his pockets during the drive so he could flick the sweat off his hands. Then he spent a few minutes looking out the window, one leg bouncing up and down in the floorboard. He then checked his sniper rifle for the fifth time since the ride began.

“Will you cut that out?” Jeremy blinked and looked up. Matt’s reflection glared at him from the rearview mirror. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I just want to be ready, y’know?”

“Jeremy’s all excited.” Their partner-in-crime leaned over the center console and grinned at him. “Wants to get in good with all those Fake boys.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Kettle. Name’s Pot. How’re you doing?” Jeremy flipped him off and leaned back against his seat. “Seriously, fuck you, Trevor.”

Trevor just shrugged. His smile didn’t even twitch. It was kind of amazing, actually, how cool and happy Trevor was with their style of life. Nothing seemed to faze him at all. If Jeremy had a dime for every tightassed, backstabbing, piece of shit criminal he’d met over the years, he could afford his own goddamn penthouse. Somehow, all of the hardships and toil that came with a life outside the law had rolled off Trevor with ease. Either that or he was very, _very_ good at hiding his true feelings.

“We’re almost there.”

Jeremy was jolted out of his little reverie, and he quickly went back to staring out the window. Jesus, the hangar looked even worse than it had in the pictures. At one point in the past the ribbed siding had been made of metal, but now it appeared to be made of rust. There were so many holes he could see clear through to the other side of the building. Through a slanted window, he could see a little prop plane at the very rear of the hangar. Shadows flitted across the window and the various other holes in the walls.

“I see ‘em.” The last of his jitters faded, and he straightened in his street. “Drop me off here. I’ll pick off the runners while you guys take out the main group. That sound good?”

“Is that…not…what we agreed on?” Matt asked.

“It’s good to hear it again, at least.” Trevor pulled out a pistol and wiped it down. “Well, no time like the present.”

“I guess.” Matt pulled the car over and switched it off. “And if things go to shit?”

Trevor scoffed. “With a gang this small?” He popped the door open and stepped out into the desert. “Now, c’mon boys! Let’s get these rascals.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re working on it.”

Jeremy stepped out and headed up one of the nearby dunes. It was already starting to get dark, so out of the three of them, he’d be the safest during this operation. Matt and Trevor would be in the most danger, but hopefully they’d get the drop on everyone and take them all out before they got hurt. With any luck, they’d be home in forty-five minutes.

Still, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Even though there wasn’t any sort of technology nearby, nor any other cars besides theirs, he swore he could feel eyes watching him. His skin prickled, and every hair stood on end. A brief fantasy of standing beside his idols as their equal flitted into his head. His heart flipped in his chest, and his stomach trembled excitedly.

_‘Stop that,’_ he told himself. _‘We gotta focus on the job. Then we can fantasize.’_

He shook off the remainder of his reverie and tapped at the lapel of his jacket. “Can you guys hear me okay?” he asked.

“Ow! Yeah, we can fucking hear you! Jesus.” He glanced through his scope in time to see Matt give him the finger. “Don’t do that again.”

“Okay, Matt, how else am I supposed to test the fucking radio?”

“I don’t know!”

“Cut it out! We’re almost there, so don’t blow our cover!” Trevor crouched down on one side of the door and glanced inside. “You still watching, Jeremy?”

“Yep, still here, not going anywhere,” he said.

“Okay. On the count of three, Matt, we go in and fuck ‘em up.”

“Got it.”

“Okay. One…two… _three!_ ”

They both moved in and sprayed the hangar with bullets. Jeremy watched sparks and blood rain down onto the cracked cement. One unfortunate tried to head for the hills, but with one squeeze of the trigger, Jeremy quickly put an end to that. In seconds, the fight was over.

“Okay, all done,” said Matt. “Ready to go home?”

“Uh, does something feel off to you?” asked Trevor.

Jeremy frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“There were only four guys. I mean, I _know_ this was a small crew, but…four guys?”

“Yeah, that seems weird.” Jeremy scanned over the carnage, which now seemed much less carnage-y with only three dudes’ worth of blood on the pavement. Several bits of brain and skull spattered one of the wings of the prop plane, but otherwise everything looked normal.

Way too normal.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, and every muscle in his shoulders tensed. He switched his attention from the hangar to the highway. A brick settled firmly in his stomach at the sight of several black vehicles stopping in the shoulder and loosing several heavily armed men.

“Oh my God, you guys need to get out of there _right now._ ”

“What? Why? The fuck’s going on?”

“We’ve been duped, that’s what! This is a fucking _trap!_ ” He took aim and fired. One of the men’s heads exploded in a shower of brain and blood, and he slumped to the ground. The attack force immediately scattered like startled ants. Most of them now sprinted toward the hangar, while several peeled off and headed for Jeremy’s position. “Fucking _run!_ ”

“And get gunned down in the open? No fucking way!”

“Matt, don’t be stupid!”

Jeremy took another shot. This one snagged a man in the shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground in a halo of blood. More gunshots rang out over the tarmac. They’d reached the hangar. Jeremy’s jaw tightened, but he focused on his own problems for the time being.

“Matt’s right, we might as well stay in here!” More gunshots rang out over the comm. “Besides, we, uh, we’re kind of boxed in anyway.”

Jeremy managed to pick off another assailant before they were upon him. He jumped back and pulled out his pistol. Before he could get off a shot, one man leveled a shotgun at him and fired. He dived to the side, but several bits of buckshot caught his exposed arm and side. Blood bloomed in several places on his jacket, and then the pain flared all over his body. He grit his teeth and shot back. Most of his shots were wildly off the mark, but he at least managed to get two guys. He scrambled to get back to his feet and away from the gang members.

“We’re pinned down!” Matt’s shout was barely audible over the renewed hail of gunfire. “Jeremy, if you could help, that would be great!”

Jeremy skittered away and propped himself up against a nearby crate. “I’m getting shot! The fuck am I supposed to do?!”

“I don’t know! Call for backup? Fucking shoot them?”

“What’s the Fakes’ general channel?” Trevor asked.

Jeremy blinked. “Why are you asking that _now?_ ”

“We _might_ need backup.”

A round of gunfire and swearing drowned out whatever response might have come next. Jeremy managed to pop another guy, but the man next to him managed to shoot him in the shin in response. A brief flare of pain washed up his leg and into his torso, but a wave of adrenaline managed to drown it out. He wobbled to his feet, peeked around the box, and shot another fucker right through the eyes.

“That is a _huge_ fucking understatement,” he finally replied. “I can try calling for backup, but I’m not sure if they can make it in time.”

“Where – shit – where the – god _dammit!_ – where are all these guys coming from?” asked Matt.

“How the fuck should I know?” Jeremy pulled the little radio out of his breast pocket and twisted the knob this way and that. His fingers were shaking horribly, but eventually he found the channel used for general Fake business.

“Hello? Hey! If anyone’s listening, B-team needs help! That job was a trap! We’re on the desert airstrip, and we’re completely surrounded!” That was all he managed to get out before the radio took the brunt of another bullet and shattered into shrapnel. He swore up a storm and spun around, shooting as wildly as he could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He managed to wrench himself away from the crate, wincing at the slow unsticking of his bloody jacket from the wood, and lurched toward the hangar. Several dead bodies lay in pools of blood, but several more very live bodies had taken shelter on either side of the hangar and were taking potshots at Trevor and Matt. He cracked one on the back of his head with the butt of his gun and threw himself into the hangar. He dragged himself behind yet another crate and cracked a grin at his two partners.

“Hey guys! How’s it going?” he said. “I’ve, uh, gotten shot, like, a _lot_.”

“We are _so_ fucked,” said Matt. “Unless _you’ve_ got any bright ideas.”

Jeremy shrugged and turned away to reload his gun. While his hands were preoccupied, his gaze landed on the plane. His brain worked for a few minutes, and then he groaned and nearly facepalmed.

“Oh my god, we’re so fucking stupid.”

“What?”

He pulled himself to his feet and gestured to the plane. “Escape! Right here!”

The other two looked at the plane, looked at Jeremy, looked at the plane, and then gaped at Jeremy.

“None of us can fly a plane,” said Matt.

“We’re fucking _criminals!_ Who gives a shit if we can’t fly it?!”

“Uh, I’d rather not die,” said Trevor.

Jeremy huffed loudly and gesticulated at the advancing gangsters. “Okay. Then you can stay here and _definitely_ die, or we can try to fly the plane and _maybe_ die.”

Trevor and Matt fired back at the rival gang for a few seconds before looking back at Jeremy and nodding. He nodded back, ran forward and pulled the plane’s door open. It only had two seats, but hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers. As soon as Trevor and Matt reached him, he shoved them into the plane.

“There’s only one other seat, so you guys’ll have to share,” he said.

“Fun,” said Matt, but otherwise he didn’t complain. He sat down first, Trevor sat in his lap, and Jeremy pulled himself into the pilot’s seat.

The realization that he had no idea how to fly a plane hadn’t really hit him until that moment, and he spent several precious seconds blinking dumbly at the control panel. It didn’t help that his brain was fogged with blood loss and adrenaline. The first few bullets ricocheting off the plane jolted him out of his stupor, and he immediately started flipping switches and pushing buttons desperately. After a few moments, there was a loud _bang,_ the engine stuttered, and the propeller slowly started to spin. Jeremy let the controls be for the moment and grasped the yoke tightly.

The propeller picked up speed, and the plane inched forward. The wings made awful, screechy metal on wood noises upon contact with the crates, but thankfully no damage seemed to be done and they pushed past them. The plane picked up speed and headed for the mouth of the hangar. Several gangsters saw them coming and threw themselves out of the way, others didn’t see them until too late, and Jeremy grimaced at the sound of their cut-off shrieks of pain. The plane’s tires rolled ponderously over the bodies littering the tarmac, and then they were on the runway.

“You should probably turn now, Jeremy,” said Trevor.

“I’m working on it,” he said.

“Jeremy,” said Matt. He pushed himself back into the seat at the sight of the rapidly approaching foliage.

“I’m working on it!” He wrenched at the yoke and slammed his palm down on the control panel. The plane turned so hard he was pressed against the door, and then it hurtled down the runway. He pulled back on the yoke as hard as he could, and the plane lurched off the ground and wobbled into the air.

“Oh my God, we’re going to fucking die,” said Matt.

“Fuck off, Matt,” said Jeremy.

They flew for several minutes without much outside incident. Full darkness had descended by now, and Jeremy wasn’t exactly in the best state to be doing much of anything, so they were long and tense minutes. Thankfully, Trevor had managed to calm down enough to help Jeremy figure out how to get back to Los Santos, so with their powers combined, they were making their swift way back to base.

By the time the dappled lights of the Los Santos cityscape were beneath the plane, Jeremy’s adrenaline high had worn off, and boy did he feel _awful._ Every single bullet wound burned and throbbed, and his head felt fuzzier and fuzzier by the minute. It was like being drunk, but much, much more painful. His wooziness meant the plane nosedived and pitched around the sky. His companions yelled and shrieked from beside him, but the words couldn’t reach him. His fading brain suddenly registered a large yellow _H_ on the horizon, and the word _helipad_ floated across his consciousness. He made a beeline for it, ears ringing with meaningless shouts.

By the time Jeremy reached the helipad, the blood loss had finally become too much, and he fell into darkness.

* * *

Everything hurt.

That was the first thing Jeremy was aware of when he started waking up. He did his best to think back to how and why he was in so much pain, but his mind had nothing to offer him. His eyes fluttered open and were immediately overwhelmed by bright white light. He swore and blinked until the light faded into something manageable.

The next thing he realized was that he had no idea where he was. The room he was lying in was small and painted a dull shade of off-white. There were no decorations to speak off, save for a white bedside table next to his bed. An IV stand stood in front of this bedside table. Four bags hung from its spindly arms; two of them were empty and had little rivulets of orangey-white liquid running through their empty shells, while the other two were half full of clear liquid.

He groaned and tried to push himself upright. That resulted in his third realization – that something was weighing down his middle. He craned his neck as far as it would go and locked eyes with a giant grinning skull. He let out a mewling cry and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jeremy? You awake, man?”

He blinked an eye open and saw Matt standing over him. One of his arms was in a sling, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed. He relaxed as much as his oh-so-sore body let him and managed to smile up at his friend. “Hi, Matt.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe it. I mean, they _said_ you’d pull through, but I wasn’t actually sure you’d do it.”

His smile faltered, and he tried to push himself up again. “Who’s they? Also, how the fuck am I alive right now?”

“That’s the thing! I don’t know how the fuck it happened, but somehow you crash-landed right on top of the Fakes’ fucking penthouse! Thank God we did, otherwise we would have been up shit creek without a paddle.” Matt moved closer and put his good hand on Jeremy’s arm. “They’ve been taking care of you since then.”

A different, less painful fluttering seized Jeremy’s stomach. “You mean…we’re in the main crew’s penthouse?” Matt nodded. “And they’ve been taking care of us?” He nodded again. “Oh my God, I think I’m going to start crying.”

Matt opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden growling cut him off, followed by him recoiling with a swear. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not trying to hurt him!”

Jeremy blinked dumbly. “Who’re you talking to?”

Matt pointed at Jeremy’s torso. “I’m talking to…whatever the fuck his name is.”

Jeremy blinked again and craned his neck as far as it would go. This time, he finally saw what was weighing him down. The long black-and-white body of the Fakes’ wolfdog was draped over his midsection and legs. His muzzle was currently where Matt’s hand had just been, but when he heard Jeremy’s little gasp, his attention immediately switched to the injured criminal. The markings on his face sparked a chain of recognition in his brain; so _that_ was the skull he saw floating over him. And here was him thinking he was dying or something.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. He reached out a hand, grimaced when the IV twinged painfully, and switched to the other hand. Ryan bumped his head against Jeremy’s hand. His nose bumped against his torso and he let out a loud whine. “What’re you doing here?”

“He hasn’t left you since you got here,” said Matt. “They had a hell of a fucking time trying to bandage you up, apparently.”

“Aww, were you worried about me, buddy?” The pup whined again and licked his hand. Jeremy managed a smile and scratched behind Ryan’s half-ear

“Seriously, though, he’s tried to bite anyone who’s tried to get near you. Including Caleb. You know, the fucking _doctor_.” Matt shook his head, but wisely did not approach the bed again. “It shocked the hell out of everyone else.”

Jeremy nodded and leaned back against his pillows. “Is Trevor okay?”

“Yeah. Somehow we all managed to survive. I still can’t believe it.”

“What’s Geoff got to say about all of this?”

“He’s pissed, I know that much.” Matt picked awkwardly at the strap of his sling and shifted from foot to foot. “I guess he’s just mad that all this shit slipped under the radar.”

“Makes sense.” A new wave of exhaustion washed over Jeremy. He yawned widely and sunk into the pillows.

“I should probably tell Geoff you’re awake, huh?”

“Better do it quick,” he yawned.

“Yeah, so, uh, goodbye.” Matt hurried out the door and into the depths of the penthouse. Jeremy laid his hand on top of Ryan’s head and shut his eyes. The pup whined again and laid his head on his chest.

Before anyone could return to the room, Jeremy was fast asleep once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit right now, I was a bit drunk when I wrote the ending of this chapter. I hope it doesn't reflect too much in the overall quality. :P


	10. Revenge, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy recovers from the attack, and the crew decides to avenge him. Now, if only they could agree on a plan...

Jeremy spent almost two weeks in bed after the ambush. This was mainly enforced by Jack, who insisted that he needed the rest to heal properly. For a while, he was fine with this. He was still bone weary after the hectic fight at the airstrip, so he eagerly slept the days away. After the first week he felt much better and felt ready to get back into the action. He was getting pretty stir crazy, anyway. However, Jack vetoed his various attempts to leave the penthouse, and while he eventually caved into letting Jeremy stay out of bed, he mandated that Jeremy keep resting until he was fully healed, or else suffer the consequences. After a good deal of thought, Jeremy decided going against Jack might not be the best idea, so he grudgingly set himself up on the couch and endured endless marathons of reality TV.

All the while, Ryan never left his side. The wolfdog lay with him in bed, trotted beside him whenever he got up to get a snack or use the bathroom, and ran to get Jack whenever he needed medicine or his bandages changed. He asked Jack about it, but Jack could only shrug. He said Ryan was usually protective of his “pack” whenever they were injured, but he barely knew Jeremy. Not that Jeremy was complaining. He’d rather have an overly friendly and protective wolf than one watching him like he was a wounded deer.

Jeremy was watching TV in the penthouse’s second living room when he heard the front door open and a storm of swearing start up in the foyer. Ryan’s ears flicked upright, and his head slowly came up off Jeremy’s lap. He threaded his fingers through the wolf’s salt-and-pepper ruff and craned his neck to see what was going on.

That ended up being unnecessary when Geoff stomped up the stairs and flopped down next to Jeremy. Ryan’s tail thumped against the couch cushions, and Geoff reached over to pat the wolfdog’s flank. Jeremy swallowed and tried to ignore the sudden hammering of his heart.

“So, tired of being cooped up yet?” Geoff asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m, uh, getting pretty antsy.” He nodded several times and quickly looked away. “Ryan’s been keeping me company, though, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“Yeah, Jack told me about that.” Jeremy looked over in time to see Geoff frown down at Ryan. “It’s, uh, it’s very weird. He’s never been this friendly with someone he doesn’t know.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe he likes me.” He smiled down at Ryan, and the pup grinned back.

“See, that’s, that’s, seriously, that’s the thing! He barely knows you!”

“He knows me now,” he said. “He’s pretty much protected me this entire time.”

He sighed and rested his heels on the coffee table. “Yeah, well, that’s not why I came up here to talk to ya.”

“I figured as much.” Jeremy muted the TV and sunk back into the couch cushions. “Hit me, then.”

“You’re fine, don’t worry.” They were silent for a few moments. Then Geoff sighed loudly. “We’ve been trying to track down the crew that ambushed you guys at the hangar, but goddammit if they haven’t made it a pain in the ass.” He grumbled beneath his breath and shifted on the couch. “We have the biggest fucking revenge boners and no way to jack off.”

Ryan bumped Jeremy’s hands with his nose. He mutely stroked the wolf’s ears and kept his eyes fixed on the white skull markings. “And, uh, what, um, what does any of this have to do with me?”

“Well, you were fucking insane enough to take on those assholes head on with nothing but a gun and your giant balls, not to mention the fact that you hijacked a plane and crashed it right into our fucking faces!” Geoff laughed and clapped Jeremy on the shoulder. “Now, _that’s_ the kind of idiocy that would be a perfect fit for my crew.”

Jeremy blinked and looked over at Geoff. The boss grinned back at him and lolled lazily on the couch. One of his hands landed on Ryan’s flank and gave him a hefty pat. His tail wagged and thwapped against Geoff and Jeremy’s legs. He let out a grunt and wiggled his ears under Jeremy’s stiff fingers.

“What?” Jeremy finally said. Truly profound.

“I’m bringing you on this revenge quest of ours, seeing as you took the most damage. You’ll work with us, get your revenge on, and, if you impress us, well…you might just become our new number six.”

Jeremy’s mouth dropped open. No. It couldn’t be. Geoff did not just say that. God, of all the people in the crew, _he_ was the one who might ascend to the main six and tower over the rest of the city. He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe it.

But…but, that little ray of light, that tiny shred of hope which set his insides on fire with excitement, bloomed and eclipsed the doubt. He sat up straight and looked Geoff in the eye.  
“You bet your _ass_ I want my fucking revenge!” He cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Plus, it’d be fun to get to work with you guys.”

“There you go! That’s the spirit!” Geoff clapped him on the shoulder and laughed again. “Fuck, this is the most alive I’ve seen you since you got here.” He stood up and dusted his pants off. “We’ll talk about it tonight, over…uh, over you-know-what.”

“Uh, no, I don’t know what.”

“I’m not going to say what, because a certain furry asshole is here, and he goes bananas when he hears anything to do with, uh, fuck, with uh, with, with, sustenance?” He flinched and looked down at Ryan. The wolf’s ears flicked, and he tilted his head. Geoff’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a long, loud breath. “Thank fuck.”

“What, are we not allowed to say food?”

The moment the word left his mouth, Ryan’s ears stood on end and he was on all fours. “Ryan, no! There’s no food! You just had lunch! Fuck!” The wolf pawed at Geoff’s slacks and whined. His entire ass wiggled with excitement. “You’ve had enough for now! _No!_ ”

All at once, Ryan drooped in disappointment. He dropped back to the ground, ears flattened and tail tucked between his legs.

“Aww, poor boy.” Jeremy cooed at Ryan and wiggled his fingers. He turned toward him and fixed Jeremy with a pleading, blue-eyed stare. He pushed himself off the couch and scratched Ryan’s chin.

“Poor boy nothing. He’s a spoiled brat, and he _knows_ it. Everyone babies him.”

“Including you?”

Geoff blinked. Then his mouth drew into a line. “That’s not the point.”

Jeremy snickered and bumped his forehead against Ryan’s. Moments later, a long, wet tongue lathed his cheek and neck.

“Fuck, I still can’t believe he likes you so much.”

Jeremy shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a modern-day Doctor Doolittle.”

“Ha, ha, ha.”

* * *

“Well, I gotta say, uh, somehow, uh, somehow I thought this would be, you know…” Jeremy gestured over the gigantic black dining table. “Fancier.”

A mix of fast foods littered the entirety of the tabletop. Burgers, tacos, chicken wings and chow mein sat side by side and were routinely picked at by the four members of the crew. Jeremy currently nibbled at a greasy pile of waffle fries and ketchup, though the beef lo mein looked awfully tempting.

There was a pause after Jeremy spoke, and then the entire table erupted in laughter.

“Fuck no,” said Michael. “Have you _seen_ the shit rich people eat? It’s fucking disgusting!”

“We are simple men with simple pleasures, after all,” said Jack.

They laughed again and lounged in their chairs. Geoff scowled at them and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, well, it would be a lot better if we could fucking get this freaking meeting started!”

“So start the freaking meeting already!” said Michael. “Jesus, we’re not doing anything!”

“I’m trying, but – goddammit, Ryan, _stop it!_ ” The wolfdog’s snout had poked up at the very edge of the table and he was trying to nudge one of the Styrofoam boxes off onto the floor. Upon hearing Geoff’s shout he dropped down, picked up a squeaky bone, and squeaked it. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.” Geoff walked over, grabbed his collar, and pulled Ryan toward the back, where the pool and patio were. He pushed the wolf out the door and slid it shut behind him.

“You know that’s not going to work,” said Jack.

“I know. I need to get a lock for that fucking door.” Geoff flopped back down in his chair and straightened his hair. “Okay, back to business, for Christ’s sake.”

“What are we doing, Geoff?” Jack asked.

“We’re trying to figure out how to hit the guys who tried to take out B-Team,” said Geoff. “Gav and I have managed to work out a few details about ‘em, but the most important shit is two possible places where these fuckheads are.” He held up two fingers. “There’s some half built shit uptown where they do all their deals,” He put down a finger, “and there’s some shitty shopping mall on the outskirts they’ve supposedly bought out for their hideout.”

“Supposedly? We’re supposed to act on fucking ' _supposedly'?_ ” Michael asked. “Geoff, if this goes wrong, we could be in seriously deep shit.”

A soft _whisch_ sounded from Jeremy’s right side. He turned a bit to see Ryan slinking back into the penthouse and sneaking under the table. Seconds later a cold nose poked against his knee. He looked down, and Ryan looked right back at him. His chin rested on Jeremy’s lap, and he let out an impatient huff. Jeremy glanced up, saw that the crew was deep in discussion, and carefully tugged the beef lo mein closer to him. He wormed his fingers into the noodles, picked out a hefty piece of beef, and snuck it under the table. Ryan’s tongue lapped at his fingers, and then the beef disappeared into his hungry mouth.

“As I’ve _said_ ,” Geoff stated, jerking Jeremy back into the conversation, “this is a matter of goddamn _pride_. These dickheads shit on our fucking doorstep, and I am fucking _pissed_.”

Everyone sobered up a bit. Jeremy palmed another piece of beef under the table and felt Ryan’s paws scrabbling on his shins.

“ _Nobody_ attacks my people.” Geoff steepled his hands and glared around at everyone. “So. We know they’re in two different places, and since we’re those kinda guys, we’re going to hit both of ‘em. That’s the gist of it. Let’s come up with some ideas, assholes.” He glanced over at Jeremy and raised an eyebrow. “And seriously, Jeremy, stop giving him food. Especially not the lo mein. It’s not good for him.”

Jeremy guiltily pulled his hands out from under the table and let them sit on the tablecloth instead. Ryan’s nose gradually wormed up his lap, and he whined.

“Okay, here's our plan, guys,” said Geoff. "The fuckwits who tried to kill Jeremy are holed up in one of two locations. We can try to take out both of them at once, or-"

"Why wouldn't we take both of them out at once, Geoff?" asked Gavin. "Be right stupid to do anything else, wouldn't it?"

"Okay, it was just a suggestion. Jesus." Geoff sighed and tapped the table once or twice. "All right, so Gavin says we should try to take them both out at once. How are we going to do that, then?"

“I say we get a couple of attack choppers and nuke both places,” said Michael. “That way, we don't have to get in the line of fire.”

"How about a tank?" said Jack. "A tank would waste 'em pretty easily."

"Really? You're not going for the fucking chopper idea? Way to go against type, Jack."

"Okay, okay, all of you, shut up!" Geoff pounded on the table and stood. "Okay, listen up, assholes. Since Jeremy was the one who was attacked and nearly killed, I say he gets to plan this little revenge heist of ours.”

Jeremy blinked up at them. "Me? Are...are you sure, Geoff?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He sat back down and folded his arms. "Now come up with something before I regret my decision."

"Uh...uh...um...okay. I'm thinking." He looked down at Ryan. the wolfdog blinked back at him. His lips pulled into a lovely puppy smile, and he licked at Jeremy's fingers. He scratched him behind his ears and grinned back at the pup. "Uh...okay...I think I have something."

"Shoot, then."

"What if...we combine those two ideas?" Everyone blinked dumbly at him. "I mean...there are choppers with hooks on 'em, right? So...I say you get one of those, lift a tank into the air, and have that be your method of attack. Then, if we feel we need it, there can be an attack chopper covering the tank. Just in case.

Still no response. Jeremy shrank down and buried his fingers in Ryan's fur. The pup wiggled further into his lap and nosed at the bottom of his t-shirt. Just when he was about to excuse himself, Michael grinned widely.

"That sounds fucking amazing, Jeremy."

"That sounds really fucking dangerous," said Jack.

"Yeah, like our fucking lives aren't dangerous at all," Michael said. "We just fucking sit around with our dicks in our hands." He smacked a hand down on the table. "I say we fucking do it. Get a cargobob, hook a tank to it, and blow the fuckers away. It's so insane! They'll never see it coming!"

"Can a cargobob even lift a tank?" asked Gavin.

"If they can lift those fucking storage...tank...cube...things, they can fucking lift a tank!"

"Shipping containers don't weigh nearly as much as a tank," said Jack.

"Says you," said Michael.

"Okay, okay, settle down! Jesus." Geoff stood once more and put his hands in his pockets. "Jeremy, I like the way you think, and I second this idea." He grinned and looked over the assembled crew. "So now, we start our fucking research, bitches. Jack -" he pointed at Jack. "Since you're so fucking worried, you can start looking up how much tanks weigh, how much shipping containers weight, and how much cargobobs can carry."

"Goddammit," said Jack, "I guess I walked right into that one."

“Gavin, you pull the plans for both buildings. See what kinda security they have, and whether or not we can hit them at a vulnerable moment or some shit like that.”

"Alright Geoff."

"Michael, you get us our tank."

"Fuck yes." He grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Been a while since we busted into Zancudo. I'm looking forward to it."

“Or, you could just call Merryweather and not get the entire military jumping down our fucking throats.”

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Uh..." Jeremy shrank a little when all four crewmembers whipped around to look at him. "So...am _I_ going to do anything?"

"Well...we're going to need all the heavy weaponry we can carry, plus parachutes and ammo and shit. While I love how insane and stupid your idea is, we do need to acknowledge that it could go very, _very_ wrong. So, you know, be prepared and shit."

"So...I'm in charge of supplies?"

"That's the long and short of it, yes."

Jeremy thought about this and nodded. "Best part is, I can take Ryan with me. I don't think he'd be happy letting me out of his sight."

Ryan yipped and clambered into his lap. Jeremy let out a surprised little squeak. His chair tilted onto its rear legs, and the back hit the wall with a loud _thunk_. Ryan's back paws scrabbled on the tile for a little bit before coming to rest on Jeremy's knees. Jeremy peeked around the wolf's furry bulk to see four bemused faces blinking back at him. Ryan's chin rested on top of Jeremy's head, and he let out a quiet bark.

"Like I said," said Jeremy, "he really doesn't want to let me out of his sight."

"No fucking kidding," said Michael. "He's never done _that_ before."

"He doesn't like it when we're injured," said Gavin. "But you're right, he's never acted like this before. I wonder why Jeremy's any different."

"I have a theory," said Jack. "But I don't know if I should say it."

"Say it. Say it! Oh my god say it or I'll kill you," said Geoff.

"Well...I think...it might be because Jeremy's...you know..."

"Yeah, what am I, Jack?" Jeremy said.

"Short."

"And what does that have to do with it?"

“Maybe he thinks you’re a kid or something.”

Jeremy stared at him. “That _can’t_ be it.”

He jumped when Geoff cackled. “Oh my God, that’s the funniest thing _ever!_ He thinks you’re a helpless little baby!”

“I’m not helpless…or little,” said Jeremy. His cheeks burned, so he hid them behind Ryan's back and hunched his shoulders. “Maybe he just likes me, okay?”

Geoff didn’t seem to hear him. “That’s adorable! Little baby Jeremy!” He cackled again and folded on himself. Michael’s laughter quickly joined his, and Gavin and Jack both chuckled.

Then Ryan snarled. He turned and glared at the other members of the crew, lips pulled back to show a tiny sliver of fang. The laughter died almost immediately, but the growling did not.

“Ryan, c’mon buddy, it was a joke,” said Geoff. He reached out to pat the wolf’s head. Ryan’s lips pulled back to show more teeth. Geoff froze in place. “What the fuck is his deal?”

Ryan dropped down from Jeremy’s lap and tugged on Jeremy’s sleeve. He stood, and the wolf trotted into the darkened living room. Ignoring the crew’s completely befuddled stares, Jeremy followed after him. Thankfully his movement wasn’t impeded by stitches anymore, but the wounds still flashed with pain every once in a while. He bore through it and watched Ryan stand on his hind paws several feet in front of him. He moved next to him just in time for something to hit his feet. He looked down and saw a leash and a harness sitting at his feet.

“Uh…I think Ryan wants to go on a walk,” he said.

“Then go ahead and take him on a walk! Jesus, we’re not your fucking _parents_ , Jeremy,” said Michael. Ryan growled again. “Holy fuck, he did it again. Why’s he growling at us?”

Jeremy heard the faint murmur of a response from someone, and decided to ignore it for the time being. He bent down, got the pup into his blue-black harness, and clipped the leash onto the D-ring. The moment the leash was attached to the harness, Ryan jerked forward and pawed at the door. Jeremy barely had time to ram his feet into one of the pairs of shoes by the door before the wolfdog tugged him out of the penthouse for the first time in several weeks.


	11. Interlude to Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little break before the Fakes take revenge.

Somehow, Los Santos managed to lose much of its ghetto look at sunset. It could have been the way the shadows concealed the cracks in the concrete and the half legible graffiti. Maybe it was the lack of gunshots and running feet echoing through the streets. Perhaps it was the way the natural slimy underbelly of the city lay down in its mire and let the people breathe for a few moments. Whatever it was, the change was start, and for many residents, most welcome.

Jeremy spent a good deal of the walk trying to slow Ryan down, but it was no use. The wolfdog was determined to go his own way, and Jeremy’s shoulder was throbbing by the time he stopped resisting. The apartment building faded into the darkening horizon, and Jeremy was led into unfamiliar streets.

Nearly an hour of walking later, Ryan finally stopped in his tracks. Jeremy rubbed his upper arm and looked around. He blinked several times. No, his eyes were definitely not lying. They were in a park. There were trees rustling in the wind and grass crunched beneath his feet. Ryan snuffled at the roots of a sapling before turning and lifting his leg. Jeremy politely deflected his gaze to a nearby sign with “Mirror Park” written on it in bold green letters.

“Did you _really_ drag me all the way here to piss on a tree?” he asked. Ryan finished his business and walked back over to Jeremy. His eyes briefly flicked over Jeremy’s torso and arms before locking onto his face. He swallowed, disconcerted by the intensity in those two blue eyes. “Sometimes I swear to God you’re going to open your mouth and blow my fucking mind.”

The wolfdog yawned.

“Very funny.”

Ryan then tugged on the leash, and Jeremy followed him through the park. No-one else was there at this ungodly hour, but even so, Jeremy eyed the growing shadows dubiously. The grass crunched beneath his feet, Ryan panted just a little bit, and a light breeze rustled the leaves on the oak trees. He stumbled when they happened upon a small hill, but regained his balance and ascended without further problems. Once they reached the top, Ryan spun around in a few circles and laid down in the grass. He gave Jeremy a pointed look, and then looked down at a patch of grass near his hindquarters. Jeremy snorted, but complied and sat down.

It might not be as quiet as other cities, but Los Santos had one problem that was universal. When Jeremy looked up at the sky, it was nearly impossible to see the stars. The brightest did their best to pierce through the city’s skyline, but the others were drowned out completely. Still, they did their best, and Jeremy could appreciate that. Ryan put his paws into Jeremy’s lap, and Jeremy lifted a hand and scratched the back of the wolf’s head.

He didn’t know how long they sat there and watched the stars. It had to have been a while, because when a car drove by, he barely noticed it, but he did notice when someone stomped up to him and practically screamed, “Finally! _There_ you are!” He nearly jumped out of his skin, while Ryan barked and leaped to his feet.

Geoff, at the very least, managed an embarrassed smile and a shrug. “Sorry. Thought you guys saw me comin’ towards you.”

“No,” Jeremy panted, “I didn’t. _Jesus._ ”

Geoff laughed a bit and paced in place. A few moments passed. Ryan growled and tugged at the hem of Geoff’s jacket. His left forepaw edged worryingly towards Jeremy’s junk. Geoff coughed. Ryan yanked down on Geoff’s jacket, and the crime boss ended up flat on his ass with a curse.

“Uh…sorry, I probably shoulda…um. Sorry,” said Jeremy.

“It’s not a problem. He would’ve found a way to do it anyway.” Geoff settled in the grass and frowned at the slobber soaking his jacket. “Asshole.”

They were silent again for a good few minutes.

“So, uh, I, uh, we, I mean, we’re not exactly a smooth crew, you know?”

Jeremy blinked. “What?”

Geoff huffed. “We’re fucking criminals, all right? We’re abrasive and horrible and shit. None of us mean anything by it.”

“Oh, the short stuff? I kinda figured.” Jeremy shrugged. “I’ve heard it all before, so I’m used to it by now.”

Geoff blinked. “Huh?”

“Something up?”

“I, uh, I thought you, um, I thought you stormed out because you were mad.”

“No, I stormed out because I thought Ryan would tear my fucking arm off if I didn’t.”

“God, I know what you mean. When he wants something, you fucking _give_ it to him.” Geoff patted Ryan’s flank, and laughed when the pup gave him a withering look. “You’re a spoiled bitch and you _know_ it.”

They both laughed, and much of the tension between them faded into the darkness. Ryan huffed and rolled off their laps. In the distance, a siren wailed. Ryan’s ears twitched. Then he sat back on his haunches, lifted his muzzle to the sky, and howled. Jeremy winced, and then, to his amazement, realized he was trying to mirror the wail of the siren.

“Goddammit, you see, _this_ is why I wanted a penthouse as far off the fucking ground as possible. Do you know how many fucking heists we had to do half-asleep because of this dickhead?” Geoff poked the wolf’s furry side. “I’ll tell you. Too many. Too fucking many.”

“Is…is it a wolf thing, or?”

“We looked it up, and apparently it is. He’s lucky he’s cute, otherwise I’d have tossed him out on his hairy ass a long time ago.” The siren finally faded into silence, and Ryan finished howling. His ears lifted off his neck, he stretched out on the ground, and promptly rolled on his back. He gave Jeremy a pointed look from in between his lanky salt-and-pepper limbs. “Now he’s begging for belly rubs like it’s no big deal. Fucker.” There was no heat in the insult. If anything, Geoff sounded fondly resigned. Jeremy wove his fingers into the coarse belly fur and scratched the pup’s underbelly. One sock-clad foot kicked at the air for his troubles.

“So, just so we’re clear, no hard feelings about the baby stuff, right?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I’ve heard worse.”

Geoff visibly relaxed. “Thank God.” He looked down at Ryan and rubbed his skinny chest with both hands. “How about you, bud? Any hard feelings from you?”

Ryan’s pink tongue lolled out of his mouth, and his leg kicked harder than before. Both criminals grinned down at him. He grinned just as widely back.

“Good. Now that we’re clear on that, let’s go home and get some rest. We’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, Geoff had not been kidding when he said there was work to do tomorrow. At the asscrack of dawn he roused everyone to prepare for what he termed “Operation: Don’t Fuck with the Fakes”. Jack went off to secure a cargobob for them, while Michael prepared for his assault on Zancudo. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t convince him to take the safer route of calling Merryweather and securing the tank that way, so Geoff eventually broke down and gave Michael his blessing. He had been practically rubbing his hands together in glee ever since.

“And what am I doing?” Jeremy asked.

“You and I are going shopping,” said Geoff.

Jeremy blinked. “But…I thought you were gonna stay here with Gavin and pull the plans for the buildings.”

“Yeah, well, Gavvers and I talked about it, and we’re in agreement.” Geoff’s index finger jabbed at Jeremy’s worn t-shirt. “If you’re going to be a part of this crew, you need new clothes. Your old ones got ruined, and this…” He poked the t-shirt again. “This doesn’t fit the whole ‘eccentric villain’ thing we’ve got going on here.”

“And everything else?”

“After this. They gotta know who they’ve fucked with.”

“Will Ryan be coming with us?”

Upon hearing his name, Ryan looked up and trotted over to the pair. He sat at Jeremy’s feet and craned his neck to stare at Geoff. His stumpy ear twitched.

“He’ll probably have to sit outside, but yes, he’s coming with us. Gav can’t work when he’s around.”

“Does he bother him or something?”

Geoff snorted. “If only! Fucker can never stay focused on his goddamn work when Ryan’s around. I’ll find them wrestling, or he’ll be feeding him all my fucking mignons, and he’ll just squawk and go ‘Wot?’ whenever I ask him what the fuck he’s been doing!” He threw his hands up and scowled at the ceiling. “No matter how many times I shove pens up the little fucker’s ass, he doesn’t get the message.”

Jeremy chose to ignore that last comment, and said, “I guess it’s okay if it helps Gavin focus on his work.”

“He’d better,” said Geoff. “Otherwise we’ll be fucked.”

That was the end of that, as Geoff hustled him towards the door and urged him to get Ryan ready to leave. He got the wolfdog into his harness and leashed by the time Geoff had returned. A set of keys whirled on Geoff’s left index finger, and he seemed to be in a better mood now. Ryan’s eyes zeroed in on the keys. A big puppy grin stretched over his skull-marked muzzle.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going for a ride, buddy.” Geoff ruffled the pup’s ears, his grin only slipping a little when Ryan’s tongue lapped over his tattooed hand. “Goddammit. You _better_ not slobber on my new suit, asshole.”

“I mean, what’s a little dog spit to us? It can’t be worse than bleeding all over it.”

Geoff fiddled with his bowtie and glowered down at Ryan. Ryan stared right back. His tail thumped all too innocently behind him. “I may not look it, but I _do_ have some standards, Jeremy.”

He led them out of the penthouse and into the elevator. He thumbed the key for the underground garage and leaned back against the railing. Ryan snuffled around the edges of the elevator before settling at Geoff and Jeremy’s feet. He stretched out as far as he could, back paws hitting the opposite end of the elevator, and put his head down. Tinny muzak played over the hidden speakers, backed by the occasional ding of the elevator passing the other floors of the apartment building. Jeremy shifted against the rapidly warming rail and buffed his nails on his t-shirt. Geoff pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen.

It was a great relief when the elevator finally stopped moving and the doors rolled open. Ryan jumped to his feet and tugged Jeremy out into the dim garage. He’d long since learned not to fight Ryan, not when he really got going, and instead resigned himself to follow the wolf wherever he went.

“Jesus, you must _really_ like car rides, Ryan,” he said.

“Have you ever lived with any dog, ever? They _all_ love fucking car rides, man.” Geoff moved in front of them, pulled out a key fob, and pressed a button. There was a pause, and a trio of beeps echoed through the garage. “Okay. This way.”

Jeremy didn’t know what kind of car he expected the Fakes’ boss to have, but it definitely wasn’t even close to the eyeblindingly bright pink Felon waiting for them near the end of the row.

“Nice, right?” Geoff patted the car’s hood and grinned. “Brand fucking new, too.”

Jeremy continued to stare. Ryan moved to the passenger’s side and scratched at the door. Geoff scowled and let out a “Hey!” and the wolfdog slowly dropped back down to the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’ve only seen these online. How much did it cost?”

Geoff shrugged and popped the door open. “Not much. Only around $90,000 or so.”

“Ninety thousand _dollars?_ ”

“No, ninety thousand _cents._ Of _course_ ninety thousand dollars! These babies are imported.”

Jeremy pulled the door open and gently eased himself into the leather seat. While he fumbled with the seat belt, Geoff reached over and opened the back door. Ryan jumped into the backseat and snuffled at the edges of the seats. His tail beat against the window and cupholders, and Jeremy swore to sweet Jesus he was making the entire car shake.

“That…sounds like a lot of money,” he finally said.

Geoff was quiet for a few seconds. “I forget you little guys aren’t spoiled by the high life like we are,” he said, and started the car. The engine purred into life, and Geoff started off on their errands.

Jeremy ignored the ‘little guys’ comment, and decided to press on the cars thing. “Yeah? How so?”

“Ninety thousand isn’t the most we’ve spent on our vehicles. Have you ever seen Michael’s fucking Adder?”

“I think the astronauts on the ISS can see it,” said Jeremy.

“Yeah, no shit. Anyway, that car cost him a sweet million, and that was _before_ he turned it into a fucking disco ball.” He grinned at the dumbfounded look on Jeremy’s face. “Hey, if you impress us, Li’l J…you can blow millions of dollars on cars you’ll wreck at least once a week, too.”

They exited the garage and peeled off into downtown Los Santos. A click sounded from behind them, followed by a mechanical whirr. Something whacked Jeremy’s shoulder repeatedly, so he finally turned around to look into the backseat.

Ryan had managed to roll the window down and stuck his head out into the open air. His ears flapped and twitched in the wind, and he paid no heed to the way Geoff swerved around cars, or to the cacophony of horns sounding off in their wake. His eyes squinted into slits, and his lips pulled back into a massive grin.

“I just wish he could roll the windows _up,_ ” Geoff lamented. “He can roll them down all fucking day, but he hasn’t figured out _up_ yet.”

“You’re not worried about him losing his head or anything?”

“He’d fucking deserve it if he did.” Geoff took a corner far too sharply, which jerked Jeremy’s seat belt taught, and caused Ryan to shift a few inches backwards. Jeremy’s heart pounded fearfully, but aside from the soft grunt of surprise, Ryan didn’t react. “However, _I’d_ lose _my_ fucking head if anything happened to him. Jack and the others love the fucker _way_ too much for me to let anything happen to him.”

“Fuck, _I_ don’t want anything to happen to him, and I barely know him!” Jeremy swatted Ryan’s hindquarters and failed to dodge his wagging tail.

“He _can_ take care of himself, you know. He’s got his own track record down at the LSPD.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” Geoff took one hand off the steering wheel and painted a broad arc in the air between himself and Jeremy. “Says something like ‘Warning: Dangerous Animal. Reports that Fake AH Crew has been seen with large black dog. Identifying as having white markings on the face, purportedly like a skull. Considered incredibly dangerous.’ I had Gavin pull it up a few weeks back. We’re all very fucking _proud_.” A little bit of the mirth slipped out of Geoff’s face at the last word. “Though, personally, I’m not too fond of the ending.”

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, ‘Shoot to kill on sight’ is fucking _amazing._ ”

Jeremy flinched. “Okay, yeah, that’s pretty bad.”

There was a slight scrabbling from behind them, and Ryan’s large furry head pushed its way in between the two of them. His nose flicked over the touch screen for a few seconds, which Geoff very much did not appreciate, and then his tongue lapped over Jeremy’s cheek.

“Agh, _Ryan!_ No!”

“Fucking fuck, he’s started the fucking navigator!” Geoff tried to push the wolfdog out of the way and frantically jammed his fingers into the screen.

_‘Head east, then make a right,’_ said the robo-voice before Geoff could do anything.

“Fucking – shut up!”

Jeremy covered his mouth with both hands, desperately trying to muffle his laughter. His reflection steadily turned redder and redder. Ryan grinned up at him and winked. His snorts grew louder and more hysterical.

God, he wasn’t even in the main six yet, and he already didn’t want to leave.

* * *

 

“Fucking Christ, you look like Prince vomited on a traffic cone,” said Geoff.

Jeremy ignored him for the time being in favor of looking himself in the mirror. His new Stetson rested proudly on his head, and stood out in stark contrast to his crisp purple jacket. That, in turn, clashed beautifully with his neon orange slacks. Was it horrific to look at? Of course it was. Was it memorable? Of course it was!

“C’mon, Geoff, that’s the point! What was it you said? You’ve got a…fucking…eccentric villain thing going on, right? If this isn’t eccentric, I’ll eat this fucking hat.” He pushed his Stetson up with his thumb and beamed.

“We’re a bunch of weirdos, yeah, but…” Geoff jabbed Jeremy’s chest with his index finger. “That outfit can be seen from fucking _space._ Even we’re not dumb enough to wear stuff like that.”

“Guess that just makes me _really_ fucking dumb.”

Geoff stared at him for a few moments before sighing. “You really _will_ fit in with this crew, Dooley. None of those fuckers listen to me, either.”

Jeremy grinned and tugged on his lapels. “Speaking of, aren’t they supposed to be back now?”

“Yeah. Hopefully they got everything for tomorrow.”

He blinked. “Tomorrow?”

Geoff walked past Jeremy and patted him on the shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you? We’re heisting tomorrow.”

Jeremy’s stomach dropped down to his feet. His throat tightened until he thought he was going to puke. “Tomorrow? But…didn’t we _just_ get everything together?”

Geoff shrugged without turning around. “No use sitting on it for too long. It’ll just let the rumor mill circulate too much, especially since Michael decided to break into Zancudo to get the tank. The last thing we want is for those fuckheads to bail on us, or worse, have a way to defend themselves. I want this to be _revenge,_ not a goddamn suicide mission.”

For a few moments, Jeremy couldn’t speak. He knew they would be enacting their revenge soon, but he thought he still had some time to prepare. He thought he’d have a week, or at least a few days to collect himself before standing beside his idols and tearing their enemies a new asshole. This revelation was especially jarring. He felt like a kid who’d been surprised by a sudden midterm out of nowhere.

“I…I guess that makes sense,” he finally said.

Geoff turned and looked at him. His smile had slipped somewhat, and he moved to clap Jeremy on the shoulder again. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine.”

Jeremy mentally shook himself and smiled again. “Yeah, I know, it’s just, uh, you know, jitters or some shit.”

“Hey, look at it this way. By tomorrow, you’ll be blowing up shit all over Los Santos and striking fear into the hearts of the bastards who hurt you.”

“Thanks, Geoff. That’s really helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand and opened the door to Jeremy’s temporary room. “Dinner’ll be in an hour. Then we’ll go over the plan again, and break for the day. Sound good?”

“Sounds great, Geoff.”

With that, the Fakes’ boss left the room. Jeremy was fully prepared to lay on the bed and contemplate the next day for an hour, but after only five minutes, something scratched at the door. Jeremy laughed, got up and opened the door. Ryan sat in the threshold. His paw lowered back to the ground, and he stared up at Jeremy with wide blue eyes.

“Dinner’s not for an hour, buddy. Besides, I don’t exactly think I have full access to the penthouse yet.” Ryan didn’t relent. He moved forward and pawed at the hem of Jeremy’s jacket. “Okay, I don’t speak wolf. The fuck do you want?” He leaned down and rubbed behind Ryan’s ears. The pup whined and pawed him again.

Something in Jeremy’s brain clicked. “Is this about the heist? Are you worried about us?” Ryan’s tail wagged, and he put his paws on Jeremy’s thighs, forcing his face right up against Jeremy’s. “We’ll be fine. You’ll get the penthouse to yourself, too. Well, _almost_ to yourself.” Ryan whined again. His eyes bored into Jeremy’s. “Oh. _That’s_ it, isn’t it? You don’t want to be left behind.” Ryan let out a bark.

Geoff and Jack had reached this particular decision when he and Jeremy got back from their errands. Jack didn’t want him in the chopper in case it went down, and Geoff didn’t want him going deaf from listening to the tank firing. And neither of them wanted Ryan to suffer avoidable injuries. Thus, while the main crew went heisting, Ryan would be staying at home with some members of the B-Team. Now that he thought about it, Jeremy realized Ryan had been antsy ever since then.

“Is he bothering you, too?” Jeremy flinched and looked up. Michael stood in the hallway. His arms were folded over his chest, and he jerked his head down at Ryan. “He’s been going door to door for fucking _hours_ now.”

“I think he’s upset about being left behind tomorrow,” said Jeremy.

“Of course it is. Asshole _hates_ being left at home.” Michael reached down and patted Ryan’s rump. “He’s as much a part of the crew as anybody else.”

“You think he’ll be okay staying here?”

“ _He’ll_ be fine. It’s Matt and Trevor _I’m_ worried about.” Before Jeremy could ask, Michael said, “He’s always been a dick to his babysitters.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“No kidding.”

Jeremy bit his lip and finally gathered enough moxy to speak. “So, uh, how do you feel about tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh…well…okay, here’s how it is, right? Tomorrow’s my first fucking heist with the crew, and if I don’t make a good impression…” He sighed. “I’ve been watching you guys for years now, and I never thought I’d get as far as… _this._ ” He gestured around the room. “I guess…I’m scared of losing it.”

Michael considered him for a few moments. “That’s fucking dumb.”

Jeremy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to be _fine,_ Li’l J! You managed to fly a fucking _plane_ while shot full of holes, and crashed it _right_ into our fucking penthouse! If you can do that, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

A warm feeling ignited in Jeremy’s chest. “You, uh, you really think so?”

“Well, _nothing_ might be the wrong word for it, but…well…” Michael shrugged. “Just don’t worry about it.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Michael laughed and headed back down the hallway. As soon as he was gone, Jeremy went and flopped down on his bed. Moments later, another weight sank down upon it, and Ryan’s wet nose pressed into his cheek. His lips twitched for a second, and let his hand rest on Ryan’s stubby ear. He shut his eyes and did his best to relax into the bed.

Tomorrow was going to be a long ass day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, guys. A whole lot of life happened since the last chapter went up, but hopefully I'll be back on track now. :)


	12. Revenge, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation: Don't Fuck with the Fakes kicks off with a literal bang. It goes about as well as everything else does for the Fake AH Crew.

Dawn broke quietly enough over Los Santos. Peachy-orange light crested over the horizon. The last of the nightly noises faded into the soft swishing of the few trees scattered over the city. Every now and then a car would zoom down the highway, but for the most part the streets were deserted. The first waves of heat had just started to blow in from the desert.

Trouble first started brewing in San Andreas. A helicopter stuttered to life in the distant airfield, and that was nothing unusual. What _was_ unusual was the immediate strain of metal on metal screeching a minute after the chopper sounds began. Most residents were wise enough to stay in their houses, but a few brave souls dared to venture onto their porches and look toward the runway.

For those jaded toward the sight of everyday crime, this was something else.

Bit by bit, a cargobob rose into the air. An enormous tank dangled from its taut hook. Several chains and ropes wrapped around the hook and the tank to keep it from snapping. A green star had been scrawled onto both sides of the tank, though the spray paint had run and muddled the image quite a bit. It swayed this way and that, and the cargobob dropped a few feet before resuming its ascent.

Once it reached a certain point in the sky, the window turned in the direction of Los Santos, tilted forward and took off like an obese albatross. The tank wobbled beneath the cargobob, and everyone in sight dived for the safety of their houses. Thankfully, the odd combo paid no heed to the ragtag streets of San Andreas and zoomed straight for Los Santos.

Inside the gunner’s turret, Jeremy hung on for dear life. His gloves had long since been abandoned, and his hand clamped his Stetson to his head. Wind gusted around the tank, and with every list Jeremy was sure he was about to lose his breakfast. He was freezing cold yet sweating bullets while his mad creation made its way to Los Santos. Slowly he dipped back down into the turret and let his forehead rest against the metal.

His earpiece buzzed. “You okay in there, Jeremy?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, just, you know, a little airsick.”

The tank swayed again, and Jeremy’s palms went clammy. He sank even further into the turret and let his head rest against his knees. His stomach rolled inside of him, and if the tank kept rocking like this, the turret would soon get a brand new paint job.

“We’ll be there in about ten minutes,” said Jack. “Just hold on, okay?”

“I’ll get _right_ on that, Jack.”

“Holy shit, this is _awesome!_ ” said Michael. The tanks inner mechanisms whirred, and the tank moved again. “D’you think we can blow up the fucking Vinewood sign with this baby?”

“At the moment, we’re focusing on the fuckheads who wronged us, plus I’d rather have the LSPD called on us later rather than sooner,” said Geoff. “But, you _have_ given me an excellent idea for our anniversary party…”

“So far, you’re good,” said Gavin. His voice was tinnier and much harder to hear. “Surprisingly, nobody’s called the police in San Andreas yet. Might not’ve thought anything of us.”

“They have police in San Andreas?” asked Geoff.

“Man, Gav, you should fucking see this! We look fucking _awesome!_ ”

“Can’t exactly do my damn job in a cargobob, now can I?” said Gavin.

That was pretty accurate. Gavin needed to watch the LSPD lines, as well as their unsuspecting foes, and make sure nobody ruined the party before it even got started. Less practically, Gavin had a notoriously weak stomach, and nobody wanted to be barfed on. So he was camped out in a fake cleaner’s van with his equipment, and carefully watched for any sign of danger. Or as carefully as Gavin ever watched anything, he supposed.

“I’m sure you’ll find some livestream somewhere,” said Geoff.

“I’ll just watch it on Weazel News later.” A slurp reverberated in their ears. “Sorry. Anyway, nobody’s onto you yet. Still, I’d hurry up, if I were you.”

“Yeah, tell us something we _don’t_ know, dumbass,” said Michael.

“No, he’s got us,” said Geoff. “We were just going to sit around and eat meat pies until the LSPD caught us with our fucking pants down, but your idea sounds _way_ better, Gavin.”

“All right. Cool it.” Gavin sulked for a few seconds. “You okay, Jeremy? You’re breathing awfully hard.”

“Just. You know. Airsickness. Trying not to throw up. That sort of thing,” said Jeremy.

“He literally _just_ said he was airsick, Gavin,” said Jack.

“Well, uh, d’you have any ginger or something? Ginger’s good for seasickness.”

“Oh, yeah, let me just check my portable fucking, my portable, uh, medicine chest for my fucking ginger! Of course I don’t have ginger! Why would I have ginger? I’m in a fucking _tank!_ ”

Nobody spoke for a while. “Maybe it’s just stress,” Michael finally said.

“Stressed? Why would I be stressed? I’m in a tank that’s attached to a helicopter with a fucking rope dangling hundreds of feet above the ground! That’s not stressful _at all!_ ”

“Stress,” said Michael.

“Definitely stress,” said Jack.

“C’mon, Li’l J, this is your plan!” said Gavin.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Jeremy.

“Don’t worry,” said Geoff for the umpteenth time. “If we pull this off, you’ll be a goddamn hero!”

“Geoff’s right. You got this. So, just, you know, keep breathing and try not to throw up,” said Jack.

“Thanks, Jack. That’s really helpful.”

Still, Jeremy’s stomach managed to settle more or less in its rightful place. He took a few deep breaths and focused on trying to make his arms and legs stop trembling. As soon as he felt comfortable, he pulled himself back up and grabbed the handles on the base of the machine gun. The world still rushed past in a fantastic blur of colors, but he managed to focus on the rapidly approaching Los Santos city limits. His hat tried to fly away again, but he pinned it down once more.

“Okay, we’re coming up on the first location!” said Jack. “Everybody get ready!”

“You’re still good!” said Gavin. “I’ve got your back, lads, don’t worry!”

“Let’s fucking _do_ this!” said Michael.

Jeremy grabbed the gun and swung it around. Their pace slowed, and beneath them, a rundown little strip mall formed out of the mess of colors. From this distance, Jeremy couldn’t tell if there were any legitimate businesses there, but a mass of cars sat behind the largest building of the bunch. He hoped this was the right place, otherwise this could earn them a _shitton_ of negative attention.

Well, more than they’d earn normally, at any rate.

“Okay, Michael! You should have a clear shot!”

“About fucking time!”

The turret swiveled around. Jeremy covered his ears, and Michael fired.

Too fast for the eye to follow, the tank shell whipped through the air and exploded against the beige brick. Yellowy-orange flames erupted and spread over the complex in a matter of moments. A swarm of people flooded the parking lot in the seconds that followed. Many headed for their cars, but a mass formed outside the destroyed base. Bullets started pinging off the tank and the cargobob.

“Guys, I need you to take care of this!” said Jack.

“On it!” Jeremy aimed down at the mass and let it rip. He wasn’t expecting the kickback, and for a few moments, the shots went wild. Eventually, his hands went numb, and he pointed it back down at the assembled gang. Splashes of red burst over the asphalt. Men dropped like flies. Michael shot at them, and the fire tore the rest of the group to shreds.

“Keep it up, boys! Let’s teach ‘em what it means to fuck with the Fakes!”

“Wow, that looks so cool!” said Gavin. “Damn, they need to invest in better security cameras. That’s the third one what’s been fried.”

“How’re we doing, Gav?”

“Thankfully, the gang’s not aware of what you’re doing yet, but the LSPD is, well, you know, they did hear the shooting and the tank firing. You need to get moving if you want to get to the other location before the cops send out the helicopters.”

“This place is pretty fucked up anyway. Okay, Jack, let’s get the other one!”

Jeremy cheered, Michael let out a ‘Yeah!’ and they were on their way. Jeremy had finally adjusted to the swaying, and was even starting to enjoy himself. The sun had risen fully above the horizon now, and the heat occasionally brushed over his skin. His earlier worries were tamped down for the time being, swallowed by the rush of adrenaline pounding in his veins.

It would be some time before they reached the second location in uptown Los Santos, so he settled down and watched their warped reflection in the windows of the skyscrapers. He couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the dumbfounded faces of the office workers inside. Most just sat, mouths open wide, and stared at the awesome sight before them. Jeremy grinned. This _had_ to look like something out of a cartoon.

In any case, they’d be talking about this for _years_ to come.

“This is so fucking _cool!_ ” Michael said. “I can’t _wait_ to see this on the news!”

“S’already on the news, Michael.”

“Really?” asked Jeremy. “I don’t see any news choppers or anything.”

“It’s mostly just phone pictures and videos, but everyone’s talking about it.”

“Uh, that…that might not be good,” said Jack. “Didn’t we _not_ want attention yet?”

“We can’t exactly _hide,_ Jack! We’re in a tank attached to a goddamn _helicopter!_ We’re not a fucking _stealth force!_ ”

“Still, you guys need to act _fast._ There’s at least half a dozen choppers headed your way.”

“And you’re telling us this _now,_ Gavin _?!_ ”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

Michael scoffed. The main cannon spun around a few times and settled on the horizon. “I’ll fuck ‘em _all_ up.”

“Yeah, keep your eyes peeled down there.”

In what felt like seconds, the first few LSPD choppers appeared in the sky and made a beeline for them. Jeremy closed one eye and fired. A burst of flame sprung from one of the helicopter’s rotors. It careened through the air like a Catherine wheel, slammed into a building and crashed to the ground. He swiveled around and pinged a couple shots off the others, but it wasn’t nearly enough to bring them down.

“Michael!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it!” The tank swung around, and a shot thundered through the air. It ripped the rotors clean off one chopper and sent it crashing into another one. Both of them smashed into fiery shrapnel on the pavement below.

“Good job guys! Now fucking keep going! We’re almost there!” Geoff’s shouts tailed off into crackles. “Nobody fucks with the Fake AH Crew!”

“Is that it down there?” Jeremy asked. He pointed down at a skeletal structure tucked away amidst the various and sundry buildings. “Looks like the picture, right?”

“You know the drill. Light it up, boys.”

“Okay, _I’ll_ take care of the choppers, Michael! Don’t worry!”

“I’m not!” The cannon boomed again. Metal rebar screeched and wailed. An entire corner of the building sagged. “Shit, that was _awesome!_ Look at it go!”

“Here they come!”

A wave of men poured out of the building, and once again, bullets ricocheted off the sides of the tank and cargobob. One whizzed right by Jeremy’s cheek and put a dent in the metal by his head. He scoffed and focused on the approaching choppers. Michael’s cannon boomed again, and bodies flew left and right. Fire licked up the building’s skeleton. The topmost floor sagged like a deflating soufflé, and what few men remained turned and fled from the rain of flaming debris.

“You better run!” Geoff yelled. “ _Nobody_ fucks with the Fakes!”

“Guys? You might want to leg it! The LSPD’s, uh, well, they’re calling their SWAT guys, and, uh, I think the military might be mobilizing!”

“Okay, we’re moving, don’t worry!” Jack turned the cargobob around, too slowly for anyone’s liking.

Just then, a flash of yellowy light emanated from the sagging top floor. Something small and fast zipped through the air, a trail of dark smoke marking its rapid flight. Jeremy opened his mouth, either to scream or shout a warning, but it was already far too late. It hit the back of the chopper and exploded. Plumes of black smoke shot from the back rotor, and the entire shebang spun out of control.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck, _what the fuck?!_ ”

“There was a guy in the fucking building with a fucking _rocket launcher!_ How did nobody see that?!” asked Jack.

“I don’t have fucking _telescopes_ for eyes, Jack!”

Jeremy wondered how the fuck they all could yell and screech when the entire world spun around them. The sky and ground were switching places so rapidly his balance had been thrown in seconds, and the nausea returned with a vengeance. He simultaneously dangled from his handholds and sunk back down into his gunnery, and God was it messing with him.

Finally, when the smoking back rotor snapped off and flew in four different directions, some sense of self-preservation ignited in Jeremy’s brain, and he leaped away from the tank. Seconds later, Geoff’s hastily blurted “Bail! Bail! Fucking _bail!_ ” rang out over the comms. Jeremy watched both him and Jack leap out of the cockpit and fling themselves away from the spinning mess. He waited with bated breath, but the last member did not emerge.

“Michael?!” he finally called.

“My fucking _straps_ caught on the fucking…thing! I can’t…hold on…I think I got it!”

Moments later, Michael scrambled out of the tank and jumped into the ether. At that same moment, the back rotor slammed into a nearby building, and the chain holding the tank-bob combo together snapped. The tank dropped like a stone. Its treads tore through the glass and bounced off the third or fourth floor. The cannon snapped off, spiraled away, and tore right into Michael’s back. His yell of pain cut short, and he went limp. Blood spiraled away from him and seemed to fly up into the air.

Jeremy’s heart stopped for a moment.

“Michael? _Michael?_ Are you okay? _Michael!_ ”

“What? What’s wrong? What happened to Michael?! Michael? Michael, boi, are you all right?” Panic quickly overtook Gavin’s voice, and the sound of keys clacking quickly filled Jeremy’s ears. “Oh, _God!_ ”

“What’s going on over there? What happened to Michael?” asked Jack.

“I’ll figure something out! Don’t worry, I’ll…I’ll fix this!”

Having volunteered himself, Jeremy angled his body and slowly cut through the air. His time was short; in mere moments, it would be too late and both he and Michael would be little more than meat puddles. A quick once-over of Michael proved his fears to be well founded. The cannon had ripped his parachute to shreds and cut their demoman to his backbone. Jeremy swallowed, wrapped his left arm tightly around Michael, shut his eyes, and pulled his ripcord.

He nearly cried when the straps yanked upwards and dug into his groin, but, more importantly, his descent slowed just enough for him and Michael to hit the ground not quite hard enough to die. He scrambled to escape the rainbow chute and hefted Michael onto his own back before taking stock of his surroundings. Unfortunately, at the moment, he didn’t recognize this part of Los Santos, and he had more pressing matters at hand.

“Okay, we’re down, but Michael’s really hurt, and I have _no_ idea where we are!”

“We’ve got a car, we’ll come find you!” said Jack.

Jeremy shook his head. “Just, just, just try to get away, alright? I’ll, uh, fuck!” An entire squadron of police cars rocketed around the corner, and Jeremy took cover behind a shrubbery. “Shit, shit, _shit!_ ”

“Jeremy, there’s debris falling, you need to fucking get _out_ of there!” yelled Jack.

“Fuck _me_!” He leaped out from cover and ran for the street. “Gavin, how quickly can you get over here?!”

“Larry’s driving us now! Go _faster,_ for God’s sake, Larry!” The driver’s reply was inaudible. “Then bloody burn the damn thing out! Michael’s life _depends_ on it, you bell-end!”

Jeremy drew his micro-SMG and checked the clip. “I can try to hold out here, but I don’t know how long I can last carrying Michael!”

“We’ll be there in five minutes tops, I _promise!_ Find someplace nearby to hide out in and for God’s sake, _don’t die!_ ”

“Easy for you to say,” he said, and settled down behind a waist-high granite wall. Michael slumped to the ground. Jeremy’s heart sank at the sight of blood already pooling around him. He peeked out at the approaching cops and fired a warning burst in their direction. Several windshields shattered, and a few blue bodies went down, but the onslaught continued to approach. He checked his clip, patted Michael’s shoulder, and settled in to wait.

“We’re here!” Gavin yelled, and Jeremy watched an obnoxious purple van with 'Skweeky Kleen LLC' printed on the side swing around the corner and come to a screeching halt beside the water fountain. “Get in, get in, _get in!_ ”

Jeremy scooped Michael up over his shoulder and bolted. Bullets whizzed around him, smashed into pavement and plantlife, nicked his clothing and put a hole in his hat, but miraculously he came out unwounded. The van's door slid open, and he threw himself inside. Gavin pulled him and Michael in, and the moment his feet cleared the door, they were off.

“Okay, me’n Michael are with Gavin!” he said. “Jack, what about you and Geoff!”

“I think we’ll be okay!” Jack said. “Geoff’s parachute got clipped by a light pole and he’s a bit stunned, but he’ll recover.”

“Where’re we going?” Gavin asked. His hands fluttered over Michael’s back. All the color had long since drained from his face. “The penthouse?”

“Not right now, we can’t! Not unless we want to lead the cops to our fucking doorstep!”

“What about Mount Chilead? Or San Andreas? Someplace rural, where the cops have a harder time finding us?” said Jeremy.

“Or we can just fucking pay Lester to get some heat off our backs.” A small sigh of relief escaped Jeremy and Gavin upon hearing their boss’s voice. “It’s not like we’re poor.”

“I don’t like him though,” said Gavin.

“Neither do I, but it’s better than squatting in that fuckhole all week long. Plus we’re in need of some goddamn medical attention.”

“Okay. I’m calling him now,” said Jack. “Everyone hang tight.”

They drove through the chaos for what felt like hours. Every time another cop showed up, it meant diverting down a tight alleyway, or dodging into the underground tunnels, and Jeremy didn’t know how much longer they could last. Gavin had done his best to patch up Michael with what he had lying around, but even he knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive. His hands gleamed scarlet in the afternoon light.

“We’re clear,” said Jack.

Jeremy let out a long, deep breath and collapsed into the upholstered seat. His head dropped into his lap. Gavin let out an incomprehensible chirp noise.

“Let’s go home, then,” said Geoff.

* * *

 

By the time they managed to pull into the garage, Jeremy felt like he hadn’t slept in a month. His entire body shook and trembled, and his eyes were simultaneously too heavy and glued wide open. The _tap-tap-tap_ of his heart in his chest felt too fast and fluttery, and he was hungry enough to eat an entire state’s worth of cheeseburgers. God, he’d sleep well tonight.

At least, that was what he thought.

The door to the penthouse was a welcome sight, and Geoff flung it open and sank onto the couch.

“Christ, I need a drink,” he said.

Jeremy carefully sat down next to him. “Do…you think Michael…you think he’ll be okay?”

Geoff shrugged. “I hope so. We’ll just have to leave it to Caleb and whoever he can round up.”

Jeremy nodded, though his heart wasn’t quite in it. The look on the crew doctor’s face when he saw Michael’s injury would haunt him for a good long while, and he’d quickly bundled Michael into his backdoor practice and out of sight. Gavin elected to stay with him until he learned what his condition was, so that left Jeremy, Jack and Geoff to return to the penthouse and collect their thoughts.

“Matt? Matt! Matt Bragg, get your ass over here!” Geoff inclined his head and snapped his fingers a few times. “You’d better not be drinking all my good shit.”

“Where the fuck could he be, anyway? And Trevor, for that matter?” Jack came out of the kitchen and sat down on Geoff’s other side. He set three bottles of water and a few bags of pretzels down on the coffee table and set about checking Geoff’s head. “The penthouse is big, but it’s not _that_ fucking big.”

“Uh…follow up question,” said Jeremy. “Where’s Ryan?” Geoff and Jack both looked at him. “He should have pounced on us the moment we came in here, right?”

“That…yeah, that’s…that’s not right. That’s not right at all.” Jack stood back up and spun around in place. “Ryan? Ryan, we’re home!”

A figure appeared on one of the upper floors. Their hands instinctively flashed to their guns.

“Hey, don’t shoot! It’s, uh, it’s just me.”

Trevor moved into the light and stepped down the stairs. He was paler than normal, and for once, all trace of cockiness had gone. He smoothed the front of his shirt and tugged on his lapels, ran a hand through his hair and bounced on the heels of his feet.

“Trevor? What the fuck’s going on? Where’s Matt? Where’s _Ryan?_ ” Jack moved right up into Trevor’s personal space and loomed over him. “Something is _definitely_ wrong here.”

“Uh…now…there’s no need to be upset…but, uh, but, I, uh, I have some, uh, I have bad news.” Trevor lifted his hands up and stepped away from Jack. “Really bad news.”

“You have _five_ seconds to-”

“I’m _telling_ you already! Jesus!” He stepped back again and bit his lip. “We were watching what was happening on the news, okay? It was the only way we could get Ryan to stop howling and tearing shit up! It was okay for a while, but then…” Trevor swallowed and looked up at the ceiling. “We saw the chopper crash, and the Weazel News guys were tracking you guys as you fell, and…he went _insane._ Just…completely _feral._ Matt and I tried to stop him, but he, well, he…” Trevor stopped talking and pointed at the wall.

“What? What did he do?” Geoff had stood at this time, and walked over to the wall in question. “Trevor, there’s nothing over here! The fuck are you pointing at?!”

Jeremy’s entire body went cold when his eyes found what Trevor pointed out. He moved forward, brushed past Geoff, and let his fingers rest on the shiny chrome drawer in the wall. “Geoff, please tell me this is just a trash can and not what I think it is.”

Geoff snorted. “A trash can? We’re not fucking peasants, it’s a fucking…garbage…chute…” His voice trailed off. “You don’t seriously think…”

Jeremy pointed to the door. Several long scratches covered the door, and a faint set of teeth marks dotted the once pristine handle. When he looked more closely, he saw several black hairs caught between the door and its lip.

“He couldn’t have!” Jack ran forward and yanked the door open, nearly clipping the top of Jeremy’s head. “It’s a fucking five hundred foot drop at ninety fucking degrees, he’d _die!_ ”

“We tried to stop him!” Trevor looked between Jack and Geoff. Something desperate shone in his eyes. “I swear to fucking God himself we tried to stop him! But we couldn’t! He was gone before we could get a good grip on him!”

Sirens wailed far off in the distance. A clock ticked somewhere upstairs. Jeremy felt sweat trickle down his forehead and collect in the collar of his shirt. He glanced over at Jack and Geoff. Both of them had gone ghostly white and looked like a stiff breeze would knock them on their asses. The shake had returned to his limbs, and he sank down against the wall.

“You’re telling me…Ryan…a fucking _wolf…_ outsmarted you and Matt and managed to slide down the garbage chute to his death?” Jeremy shrank back against the wall and averted his eyes from Jack’s stone-cold face. Even though he wasn’t on the receiving end of the diatribe, the words still struck him across the face. “And where the fuck is Matt right now?”

“He’s, uh, he’s looking for Ryan.” Trevor pulled out his phone and checked it. “He didn’t find him in the dumpsters, so, uh, maybe he’s okay.”

“Did Matt even fucking _look_ through the dumpsters?! He…he could be _buried_ in them!”

“He _did!_ Or, he _says_ he did.”

“Uh…” Jeremy cleared his throat and tried again. “I could, you know, uh, try to look for him. Outside, I mean.”

“Go, then.” Geoff cracked his knuckles and glowered at Trevor. He averted his eyes and shrank down into himself. “Trevor, you mother _fucker_ …”

Jeremy got up and walked out before watching the results of that particular confrontation. His muscles burned, and the wobbliness had not abated, but he pushed himself forward and into the elevator. Once it had started its descent, he collapsed onto the floor and let his head sink into his lap.

First the suicidal rocket launcher guy, then the crash, and now Ryan had run away? God, his meteoric entrance into the main six was less ‘awesome shooting star’ and a little more ‘wiping out the dinosaurs’ level of greatness. He hadn’t intended this, how could he have? He’d just wanted to impress the Fakes. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He didn’t want Michael to get hurt. He hadn’t wanted Ryan to run away.

Even though he knew he was stupid, he couldn’t stop the hot tears burning in the corners of his eyes and slowly leaking down either side of his face.


	13. Let's Get Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fakes have just suffered one of the worst endings to a heist in their entire careers. With Michael in critical condition and Ryan gone, tempers are running high and humor is running out. 
> 
> It’s time to remind the world why they fear the Fake AH Crew.

Sirens wailed throughout the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. An entire city block burned beneath a layer of wreckage. Police cordoned off the area and warned off curious onlookers and paparazzi alike. A crane trundled over the courtyard and leveled off about halfway up the building. Its crew crawled over the glossy surface like flies, and stared in complete astonishment at the seventeenth floor. A tank stuck out of the obliterated office complex. The floor beneath its treads creaked every once in a while, and it dipped a few inches more as time passed. The crew had its work cut out for them, and if they weren’t careful, the tank would fall and cause even more damage.

Jeremy gathered this mostly from the many, many passers-by. Whispers ran through the citizens like plague, and the story had already gone completely viral. The Fake AH Crew, scourge of Los Santos, attached a tank to a helicopter and used it to wreak havoc on the city. Hundreds had died, and the property damage was immense. If nothing else, the story would be around for years to come.

If the aftermath hadn’t been quite so catastrophic, Jeremy would be goddamn _preening_ right now.

Unfortunately, he was in no mood to celebrate. He had traipsed up and down the streets of Los Santos for _hours,_ doing his best to dodge unwanted attention at the same time, but had failed to find Ryan. He combed every inch of the square around the penthouse, whistled, yelled, brought out his favorite toys, and even bought a quarter pounder and treats to try and tempt Ryan out with smells. By the time night fell, he’d nearly lost his voice and his entire body screamed with fatigue, but he had seen neither hide nor hair of Ryan.

There were far too many police cars on the road for Jeremy’s comfort, so when night had fully fallen, he traipsed back to the penthouse with head hung and dragging feet. He snuck into the penthouse and crashed on the couch. Weazel News played on the TV, and music blasted from the kitchen. Jeremy closed his eyes and let his head sink into the cushions.

“Did you find him?”

He cracked an eye open and looked up at Jack. “Does it fucking look like I found him?”

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ I’d hoped he’d be close by. Fuck.” He bit his lip and turned away. “I ordered pizza, if you’re hungry.”

Jeremy lifted his head a few inches off the pillow, decided against it and laid back down. “Bring it over here, then.” Jack nodded and moved back into the kitchen. The music shut off, and after a bit of rustling, he came back with several boxes of pizza balanced carefully in his arms. He set these on the coffee table and stood back.

“What about the rest of the crew? What’s going on?” he asked.

Jack let out a breath. “Geoff’s rallied the troops. He’s told every single Fake there’s five hundred thousand dollars for whoever can find Ryan first, as well as a permanent pay increase. Everybody and their mom’s looking for him now.”

“Still no luck?”

“Still no fucking luck.”

Jeremy felt something touch down on his chest. He looked up and saw a paper plate with two slices of pepperoni pizza on it. Even though his stomach ached with hunger, he only nibbled at the food. With Ryan missing and Michael…oh, God, _Michael._

“How about Michael? How’s he doing?”

“He’s…Gavin says Caleb was able to bandage the wound and stabilize him, at least for now. If he survives the night, it’s _possible_ he’ll make it out all right.”

Jeremy swallowed. “ _Only_ possible?”

“Yeah. That’s all I’ve heard so far.”

Jeremy groaned and sagged even further into the couch. He let his attention be grabbed by the news anchor. Anything was better than lingering on the rapidly deteriorating situation at hand. He grabbed up his pizza piece and crammed half of it into his mouth.

_“Still no updates on the whereabouts of the infamous Fake AH Crew, who, earlier this morning, went on a terrifying rampage through downtown Los Santos with a combination tank and helicopter. The attack has left at least one hundred dead, over one thousand injured, and an estimated thirty million dollars in property damages. A mandatory curfew has been issued for the next twenty-four hours, and citizens are urged to stay in their homes.”_

_‘It’s not like we’re doing anything anytime soon.’_ Jeremy swallowed the wad of pizza in his mouth and grabbed another slice. _‘But fuck if this isn’t going to be a pain in our asses.’_

The news anchor shuffled her notes and looked back up at the camera. _“In other news, a strange discovery in the alleyways of Los Santos might be_ _the key to stopping the Fake AH Crew once and for all.”_

A strange tingling started in Jeremy’s gut. “Uh, Jack? You, uh, you might want to see this!”

Jack immediately rounded the corner and stared at Jeremy. “What?”

Jeremy shushed him and pointed at the TV.

_“-Earlier this afternoon, Los Santos Animal Control captured the infamous wolf-dog hybrid known as ‘the Reaper’ and transported him to a holding facility under the direction of the FIB.”_ A clip of several officers exiting an alleyway replaced the anchor’s face. One of them held something dark and blurry, while the others pushed the crowds away.

Jeremy’s heart leaped into his throat, and the glass of water Jack was holding smashed into pieces on the hardwood floor.

Ryan hung from the officer’s hands. His paws dangled beneath his body, his tail pointed straight down at the ground, and a muzzle covered most of his skull-marked face. Both blue eyes were glazed and dull, though his flanks did move slowly up and down with breath. The officer carted him toward a reinforced van like he was a piece of luggage and tossed him into the back as such.

Jack whipped out his phone, tapped twice at the screen, and pressed it to his face. His right hand clenched into a fist.

Meanwhile, the broadcast continued. _“The decision comes with some controversy, as a majority of Los Santos citizens, under the recommendation of the Los Santos Police Department, firmly believe it should have been euthanized, as it is a threat to society and responsible for several deaths.”_ The van’s doors slammed shut on the semi-conscious Ryan, and it carted him off to an unknown destination. _“However, Detective Michael Burns of the LSPD released a statement earlier today, stating ‘the Reaper is an important piece of evidence that could lead to the eventual arrest of the Fake AH Crew. He is more valuable alive than he is dead.’”_

“Geoff? Yeah, it’s me. You need to watch the news. Check your fucking phone if you have to!” Geoff’s voice mumbled over the phone. Jeremy strained his ears, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. “No, I’m not talking about that! It’s Ryan! The cops have him! No, _listen,_ I saw the footage on Weazel News, and it was definitely him! He’s being detained as evidence. I don’t know how long they’ll keep him alive. Uh-huh. Yeah.”

_“-undecided on its eventual fate,”_ said the anchor. _“There are rumors that the LSPD plans to release the wolfdog to a wildlife reserve, but it is unconfirmed at this time. We can only hope its capture will lead to the end of the Fake AH Crew’s reign of terror.”_

The story ended there, and the anchor moved on to other crimes. Jeremy stopped paying attention and looked back up at Jack. He blinked when he realized Jack was no longer there. The glass shards had long since been cleaned up and the water mopped away. He didn’t think the broadcast was _that_ long.

It took him a few minutes to realize that Jack had left the penthouse entirely. An easy tell was the oppressive… _nothingness_ that had fallen over the apartment. Usually, there would be at least some presence within its walls. A whiff of Geoff’s expensive cologne, a distant squawk from Gavin, Michael throwing a controller at a wall, Jack futzing about in the kitchen, the _thump-thump_ of music, the jingling of Ryan’s collar. Now, there was only the distant ticking of the lopsided clock upstairs. Occasionally the AC would boot up with a thunderous rumble, but eventually faded back into a quiet whirr.

Jeremy pushed his hat down over his eyes and curled into the couch. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to clear his mind.

It wasn’t working that well.

* * *

 

“Jeremy? Wake up, Jeremy!”

Jeremy started and jolted upright. His Stetson slipped down his chest and rolled onto the floor. Several blinks later, Geoff’s face swam into clarity. God, he looked _terrible,_ and that was saying something. The bags beneath his eyes were darker and more pronounced than usual, and there was a disconcerting waxy tone to his skin. His bowtie had vanished and dirt liberally coated his once pristine suit.

“Hey, Geoff,” he said. “Wha’s…wha’s going on?”

“I got back as soon as Jack told me the news.” He tugged the cufflinks out of his sleeves and let them flap back against his forearms. “I have to say, I am fucking sick and goddamn _tired_ of this shit. This, this, this, this was _supposed_ to be our fucking day of _glory!_ We were gonna party all night long, and _this. This_ is what I _fucking_ come home to!” His tattooed fist slammed into the table. One of the pizza boxes slid off and spilled its cold cheese pizza over the wooden floor. “Just…just…fucking _Christ_.”

“What…what are we gonna do?” Jeremy asked.

“ _We_ are gonna prepare for _war,_ Li’l J, and those two little shitstains Matt and Trevor are going to infiltrate the Los Santos Police Headquarters to find out where the fuck our Ryan went.” Geoff cracked his knuckles and shook his arms loose. “Seems like there are still some pricks out there who haven’t learned not to fuck with the goddamn Fake AH Crew.”

Jeremy nodded and stretched. “Anything you say, man.” His back cracked loudly, and he let out a satisfied grunt. “And, uh, and what about Michael? How’s he doing?”

“I haven’t heard from Gavin or Caleb about him since dickhead finished patching him up.” Geoff scowled and kicked the fallen pizza box. “Believe me, I’m not happy about it.”

“Dammit.” He pushed himself onto his feet and stretched again. “Guess it’s time to start shopping around, huh?”

“As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, not quite yet.” Geoff headed into the kitchen. “First, we need that intel Matt ‘n’ Trevor are gonna get us, and then we hit those fuckers hard.” A hiss of escaping pressure echoed from the fridge, and Geoff was quiet for a few seconds. “I’m thinking body armor and silenced weapons right now, but I’m willing to improvise if need be.”

“So you’re saying…”

A beer bottle shot out of the kitchen, rolled across the table and smashed on the ground. Geoff followed soon after it. All trace of ease, joviality and general ease had completely left his face. He walked past Jeremy and headed for the planning room.

“I’m saying, Jeremy, that it’s high time we got _serious_.”

And with that, he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

 

The plan came together with frightening efficiency. By noon the next day, Geoff sent Trevor and Matt off to the police station to find Ryan’s location, while Jeremy and Jack bought all new weapons and armor. Unlike their preparations for their revenge, no trace of their humor or quirkiness could be found in any of their plans or actions. Geoff’s tentative plans were by the book, cut and dried, and the outfits Jack and Jeremy picked out were standard black suits of body armor. No jokes were exchanged, no laughter could be heard, and a smile never graced any of their faces.

Eventually, Gavin showed up to help them with the research. All inquiries as to Michael’s wellbeing were met with, “Well, he survived the night, didn’t he?” and left at that. His distress was clear enough from the black circles under each eyelid and the general pallor of his skin. Then, he surprised them all by asking to be included on the eventual raid.

“Why the fuck do you want to raid?” asked Geoff. “You’re fucking _useless._ ”

“You’ll need at _least_ four people if you want to pull this off, Geoffrey!” said Gavin. “Besides, I _am_ a part of this crew for a damn reason!”

Geoff had glared for a few seconds, and then relented. Gavin took a spot beside Jeremy and grabbed up one of the silenced pistols. Though he fumbled it a bit, his fingers curved around the gun with ease, and he checked the magazine and sights quickly. His mouth was set in a thin line, and the sudden tension in his shoulders unsettled them.

Still, they got over it soon enough, and quickly set about their preparations. Silenced weapons. Full body armor for all four currently active crew members. Blueprints on every major building in Los Santos and then some. A brank spanking new jet black Kuruma. Four different skull masks. Grenades and C4, just in case.

Near three o’clock in the afternoon, Matt and Trevor returned from the LSPD Headquarters. Both of them looked shaken, but unharmed, and Trevor had a thick manila envelope clutched to his chest. The acrid scent of gunpowder and gasoline preceded them into the room and filled its every corner.

“Okay, we _think_ we got the info you wanted, Geoff,” said Matt. Trevor slid the folder across the table and stepped back. “It _should_ be in there.”

“You _think_ you got it, huh?” Geoff picked up the folder and dumped its contents on top of the blueprints. “I will fucking _murder_ you if it’s not here, assholes. I hope you know that.” They both flinched. “So far, it’s not looking good for you dickheads.”

The other three members drew closer to the table and pawed through the papers. Most of them were useless. There were pictures of old crime scenes, witness testimonies, shipping records, and other crap they couldn’t use. Jeremy dutifully shredded the useless chaff while everybody else sped through the shrinking pile.

“Wait, wait, I think I have it!” All eyes turned to Gavin, who had hoisted a form over his head.

“Give it here, moron!” Geoff snatched it out of his hands and quickly glanced over it. “Fuck my stupid fucking ass. Of fucking _course._ ”

“The fuck is it, then?”

Geoff pinned the paper to the corkboard and stood back. “He’s being transported to an animal sanctuary on the mainland until we’re actually in custody _and_ the state’s prepared a case for us.”

“Does it say _where_ the sanctuary is?” asked Jack. He moved forward and squinted at the paper. “You’d think they’d want a record of it…”

“Hold on…why is this fucking font so fucking tiny?”

“Is it ‘New Eden Zoo and Wildlife Sanctuary’ maybe?” asked Trevor. Everyone turned to stare at him. He cleared his throat and held up a different form. “It’s, uh, it’s a release form.”

Jack grabbed this paper and scanned it. “I’d say this is probably it, yes.”

“What kind of name is ‘New Eden’?” Geoff scoffed and pinned the release form next to the other form. “Doesn’t fucking matter anyway. We’d’ve busted him out no matter where he ended up.”

“Okay. Fucking zoo heist then.” Jeremy couldn’t help smiling just a little bit. “Sorta like _Madagascar,_ right?”

“How is it anything like _Madagascar?_ ” asked Jack.

“I don’t even know what that is,” said Gavin.

“That movie sucked,” said Geoff.

“Fine, it’s nothing like _Madagascar,_ then.”

“We’re getting off topic!” Geoff clapped his hands and scowled around the room. “Trevor, Matt, you’re somewhat off the hook. I’m still pissed as all hell, but hey, I don’t feel so much like killing you now.”

“Yay,” said Matt.

“Shut up. The rest of you, it’s time to start planning for real now.” He cracked his knuckles and knocked every single blueprint off the table. “Gav’ll be researching everything we need to know about New Stupid Shit or whatever, Jack’ll practice driving the Kuruma and get that shit souped up, and Jeremy and I are gonna get all our shit together.” He sighed and pushed himself back up. “I’m not fucking happy about this, but at least we know he’s alive and _presumably_ safe.”

Everyone nodded and moved into action. Gavin and Jack left the room while Jeremy collected the redundant blueprints. Matt and Trevor stood in the middle of the room with matching slackjawed expressions. After a few minutes, Geoff looked over at them and scowled.

“The fuck you two still doing here? Get the fuck back out there and make sure the rest of the crew doesn’t get up to shit while we’re busting Ryan out.” They both nodded and shot out the door. “Jesus Christ.”

Jeremy finished rolling up the blueprints and cleared his throat. “Are, uh, are we still gonna use all the shit we bought? Y’know, the uh, the, uh, armor and shit? It _is_ an animal sanctuary, right?”

“Oh yeah, we’re still using it. And when we’ve got Ryan back, we’re going to reinforce this shit once and for all.” Geoff walked over to the door and yanked it open. “Don’t fuck with the motherfucking Fake AH Crew. Now, let’s go get our shit and start prepping.”

Jeremy quickly followed after him, and even made sure to shut the door behind them. “What about Michael?”

“He’ll have to sit this one out. I’m sure he’ll be pissed, but he can’t exactly do anything right now.” Geoff moved deeper into the penthouse and pulled open the door to the armory. “At least, I fucking hope that’s how it turns out.”

“He made it through the night, right? That _has_ to mean…something.”

He sighed. “His chances are definitely _better,_ but they’re still not _good._ You know what I’m saying?” He shook his head and started pawing through the racks of gear. “It doesn’t matter right now. Right now we have only one task-” He threw something over his shoulder, and Jeremy’s vision went dark. He reached up and yanked the new suit of body armor off his face.

“-we are getting our fucking wolfdog back. No matter what.”


	14. We Let the (Wolf)Dogs Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get Ryan back.

In Jeremy’s humble opinion, this _had_ to be the most impractical way to conduct a heist. Geoff had gone on and on and _on_ about how serious they were going to be, but then hit the stumbling block of not having a ‘serious’ way of getting their Kuruma to the mainland. With few options immediately available, and time being of the essence, they were forced to fire up Geoff’s obscenely golden yacht, load the Kuruma onto it, and make their way to the mainland that way. After a half-hour of frantic phone calls, Geoff was able to drum up enough crew members to stage a fake party on the yacht, which he hoped would be a convincing enough alibi for most authorities to turn a blind eye to their activities.

This was where the crew found themselves at that moment. Lights flashed and whirled around, booze flowed through the ship as quickly as the wake closed around it, the stench of sweat hung over the congregation, and somehow all their fellow crew members had giant smiles plastered all over their faces. Honestly, Jeremy was in awe at how easily they were able to let go of their troubles and pretend to party the night away. Hell, some of them appeared to be actually _enjoying_ themselves.

As for Jeremy, he was barely able to keep himself from shaking. Geoff only allowed the main crew members two drinks that nights, and sadly he was already halfway through his second shot of whiskey. Damn if he didn’t want some fucking courage, though. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever broken in anywhere. Far from it, actually. It was practically a goddamn _necessity_ in Los Santos. No, what had him worried, more than _any_ threat of police or breaking into a zoo, was the fear that they would somehow fail. Maybe Ryan had been transferred to another location without them knowing. Maybe they’d decided to put him down. Maybe he was long gone, and they were only preparing for more heartbreak. Maybe-

“How’s it going, Li’l J?” He jumped and spilled most of his remaining drink on the mahogany counter. Geoff clapped him on the back and only eyed the puddle with slight annoyance. “You ready for this?”

“Sure. Yeah.” He scrubbed the mess up with a cocktail napkin and threw the pulp in the direction of the trashcan behind the counter. It splattered onto the ground immediately next to the trashcan. “How soon are we heading out?”

“Bout an hour. Harbor patrol’ll be long gone by then. You and Gav will be taking the Seasharks, while Jack and I will use the Dinghy to tow the Kuruma to shore. We’ll group up there.” Geoff patted him on the back again. “Don’t sweat it, okay? This is gonna be nice and easy.”

“I’m sure it will,” he said under his breath. Geoff raised an eyebrow, but left Jeremy be and went back over to the bar. He was ninety-nine percent sure Geoff had already gone past his two-drink limit, yet there he was, pouring himself another two fingers of whiskey like they weren’t about to break into a zoo. He caught Jeremy staring, blinked, very obviously set the whiskey back beneath the bar, and chugged the entire glass while flipping him off.

Well, he _was_ the boss.

In stark contrast to the previous twelve hours, the next sixty minutes couldn’t pass fast enough. Jeremy couldn’t count the number of times something was broken, and he swore to God there were two people fucking in the corner. Matt tried to talk to him a few times, but the music drowned out every attempt at words he tried to make. Jeremy had downgraded to E-Cola by this point, and the corn syrup certainly wasn’t helping his shaking hands. If anything, he felt twice as twitchy as he had before. He glanced at the clock so many times in the course of that hour he developed a crick in his neck. Every time he checked it, it seemed like time hadn’t moved at all, and the unease in his stomach grew. There wasn’t a distraction in the world that could last long enough to get him through that one damn hour.

When a hand clapped on his shoulder, Jeremy fully expected Matt to have returned with yet another attempt to get him to cheer up, but instead came face to face with Jack. He nodded once and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Jeremy’s heart throbbed in his throat. He swallowed, and nodded back. Jack turned on his heels and walked to the boat’s stern. Jeremy stumbled over his own feet, caught himself, and lolloped over to the golden railing.

Geoff and Gavin already stood on the tiny dock affixed to the yacht’s side. They struggled to hook a set of chains to a small loop on the back of a black dinghy. The chains were attached to a small float, upon which the tarped Kuruma sat. The ocean’s waves were not doing anything to help them out, and in fact the Kuruma looked in danger of flowing out to sea.

“Uh…do you guys need help?”

“I think we got it!” Geoff heaved on the chain and managed to clip the hook onto the dinghy. It creaked loudly, and Jeremy swore the loop bent into more of a ‘0’ shape. “See? It’s all good.”

“This shit better hold, Geoff, otherwise we’ll be out a Kuruma.”

“It’ll fucking hold!” Geoff stood up and dusted himself off. “Okay, Gav and Jeremy are up. You guys go on ahead, and we’ll follow you to the meeting point. You remember where it is, right?”

“That little beach surrounded by the rocks, right?”

“Good man. We’ll pick you up as soon as we get the Kuruma ashore.”

Jeremy swung over the railing and shimmied down the ladder. The platform wasn’t nearly big enough for three people, so he moved to a black Seashark, undid the tow rope, and clambered aboard. The motor roaring to life scared the shit out of him, but he recovered quickly and swung it out to sea. Another engine sputtered to life behind him, and a glance back showed that Gavin already followed closely behind him.

Strangely enough, as soon as the yacht faded into the distance, Jeremy found himself actually enjoying the ride. He jumped a few waves and goaded Gavin into racing him to the beach. Once or twice a grin stretched across his face, and he managed to spray an obscene amount of seafoam right into Gavin’s dumb face. His squeals made the venture entirely worth it.

After about fifteen minutes or so, the shore loomed ahead of them. Moonlight glinted off the rocks and dyed the sand pearly yellow-white. Jeremy slowed his approach and guided the Seashark out of the water and onto land. It sputtered and eventually went silent. He shoved it behind a rock and stripped out of his soaked jacket. A gust of wind moaned through the rocks and turned to ice against his dripping skin. He rubbed his upper arms and blew into his hands.

“Fuck, I hope Geoff and Jack get here soon.”

“Damn right.” Gavin panted and sagged against the rock. “Why is it so cold? It’s summer!”

“Wind blowing off the water, Gavin. Doesn’t help that we’re fucking soaked, either.”

The Brit glared at him. “I’d be fine if you hadn’t drenched me, you nob.”

Jeremy held up his hands. “What can I say? The opportunity presented itself, and I couldn’t resist.”

They didn’t speak after that. Jeremy huddled beside the Seashark and continued to rub his arms and legs. He eyed the road above the rocks and hugged his knees to his chest. Hopefully Geoff and Jack had made it to land by now, and would bring the Kuruma and their change of clothes around before too long. God, he hoped they’d be quick. His soaked clothes clung to his skin, and with every light breeze wrapping around the rock they turned colder and colder. Gavin’s breath sped up, and he swore he could see little puffs of breath dissipating in the moonlight.

Finally, headlights swept over the rocks, and the quiet purr of an engine stopped up on the overhead path. Jeremy turned and craned his neck. The Kuruma sat on the road overhead. Light glimmered off its black paint and cast a long shadow over the beach beneath it. Jeremy stood and gestured to Gavin.

It took them a few minutes, but eventually they scurried up the rocks and knocked on the Kuruma’s window. The trunk popped open. Inside were the armor sets they’d bought earlier. Both of them tore their soaking clothes off and strapped on the armor. Once everything was in its proper place, they tossed the wet clothes into the trunk and sat down in the back.

“Okay, it’s a thirty minute drive to the zoo,” said Jack. “Geoff’ll run down the plan again while you two check weapons.”

“Right, here’s how it’s going to go, dickheads,” said Geoff. “Jack’s going to stay outside the main gate with the Kuruma, ready to help us make our escape. If something happens and you can’t make it, make sure you tell him so he’s not sitting here with his dick out.”

“Yeah, we got that,” said Jeremy. He popped the clip out of his pistol and checked the bullets. “Jack’s out here, and we’re going in through the side door, right?”

“Right. We’ll drop Gavin off by the security office. He’ll watch the cameras, make sure we’re not going to have any unexpected visitors, then he’ll wipe that shit once we’re out.”

“Got it,” said Gavin.

“That leaves you and me, Li’l J. We’ll split up and head toward the two exhibits.” A piece of paper poked Jeremy’s forehead. He grabbed it and held it up to the window. _New Eden Park Map_ headed the paper, and the rest was dominated by a simplified map of the zoo. “I’ll head for the wolf habitat, and you’ll head for the new rescues area.”

“Do we know he’ll _actually_ be there, thought?” asked Jeremy. “I mean, he’s a wolfdog. Where does he fit into…into _any_ of this?”

“That’s what we’re gonna haveta figure out, Jeremy.” Geoff paused for a moment. “Now, once one of us finds him, he’ll call the other and wait to reconvene. Then we’ll make our way into the exhibit, bust him out, and head back to Jack.”

“Sounds fucking easy when you phrase it like that,” said Jeremy.

“Hopefully it _will_ be that easy. Still, be ready for fucking anything, boys.”

Jeremy pushed the magazine back in with a click. “Aren’t we always?”

“Sometimes. When we’re lucky.” Geoff let out a deep sigh. “God, we’d better not fuck this up."

* * *

 

In what felt like no time at all, a wide median split the road in two, and a series of animal statues sprouted out of it, growing larger and larger the further they went. A blue sign pointed toward the zoo. Jack looked in the rearview mirror. Jeremy and Gavin nodded and hefted their weapons. He nodded back and turned into the drive.

A large wrought iron gate stood at the end of the way. Vines curved up the sides and coiled around the figures on either side of the huge plaque bearing New Eden’s name. A man stood on the left side, and a woman on the right. They were naked save for the leaves covering their nethers. The headlight flashed off the iron and illuminated the dozen or so bronze snakes coiled around the nameplate. Geoff whimpered and sank into his chair.

“Well, _that’s_ not ominous at all,” said Jeremy.

“Fucking _Christ_ that’s creepy,” said Geoff.

“Leader of the most infamous crew on the West Coast, everybody,” said Jack.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Jack chuckled and pulled the wheel all the way to the left. The Kuruma’s wheels hit the curb and mounted it. Grass rustled and crunched beneath the wheels, and the gate quickly faded into the darkness behind them. A concrete wall ran along their right side. Paintings of jungle foliage and animals faces flashed and rippled through the darkness, appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Okay, it should be…right…here.” Jack stopped the car and sat back. A small nondescript door sat in the middle of the brilliant paintings. It had no handle or doorknob on the outside, and a small set of stairs led up to the little fenced off platform. “All right. It’s all you guys now.”

“Right. C’mon, guys.” Geoff waved Gavin and Jeremy forward and popped the door open. “Let’s get our wolfdog back.”

They stepped out of the Kuruma and headed toward the door. Geoff stopped them right when they passed a cluster of trees and motioned for them to wait. When they gave him a questioning look, he pulled a brick of C4 out of his backpack and raised his eyebrows. They quickly got the picture and huddled behind the nearest tree trunk. Geoff let out a soft snort and approached the door. He stuck the C4 on the spot where the knob would have been and jumped back down the stairs. A few seconds later, the ground trembled, and smoke wafted around the trunk. Jeremy peeped around it and saw the long empty hallway beyond the wreckage of the door.

“Are we still good?” asked Geoff.

“I don’t know yet,” said Gavin. “Let’s just keep going!”

With that, they entered the dark building. It stunk of mildew and dust, and the shadows cast by their flashlights were far more interesting than the actual hallway. After a veritable labyrinth of endless turns and dead ends, they finally found the entrance into the main building. Their side was thankfully unlocked, so without further ado, they moved forward.

However nice New Eden might have been by daylight was completely occluded by darkness. Their flashlights glanced off skeletons and scales and fur and dull, glassy eyes. Gavin let out a small whimper and pressed closer to the other two.

“Damn, this is creepy. I thought this was a zoo or something?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s, like, educational shit or something.”

“Both of you shits shut up! We’re almost to the security office.”

They both clammed up and moved on. A dim glow shone on the wall directly in front of them, and when Jeremy turned his head to look, he saw a set of monitors and the outline of a person behind two reinforced windows. Both he and Gavin stopped in their tracks. Geoff gave Gavin a pointed look and gestured at the door. Gavin blinked. He gestured more frantically. Gavin finally seemed to get it and crept up to the door. He fumbled with the lock, swore under his breath, and got it open.

Apparently he made some sort of noise, because the guard turned around. Before he could do anything, Jeremy aimed and fired. The bullet zipped out of the gun and hit him right between the eyes. Blood spattered over the monitors, and he slumped to the ground.

“Well, Gavin’s job just got harder,” said Geoff.

“Bugger my arse! We weren’t going to _kill_ him, Jeremy!” Gavin glared at him. Most of the color had already drained from his face. “Christ alive, I’m going to have to _clean_ this now, Jeremy!”

Jeremy threw up his hands. “Well it was either kill him or have him pull the fucking alarm! Plans _have_ to fucking change sometimes, or we’d never get _anything_ done! I’d rather have a couple fucking bodies and Ryan safe at home than try to fucking…I don’t know, Silent Snake his ass and get caught before we even do anything.”

“Fucking _stop_ already! Christ, we need to keep moving before the rest of the guards come to see what’s wrong!” Geoff waved his hands around and glanced at the door. “Gavin, get to that security station _now!_ ”

“I’m going! Christ! You go find Ryan!” He nudged the dead guard aside with his toe and sat down.

“Okay, Jeremy, let’s go get our wolfdog back.” Geoff rolled his eyes and clapped Jeremy’s shoulder. “Fuck if I don’t know where he is, though.”

“That’s why there’s two of us, Geoff.”

They moved back out into the hallway and followed the signs toward the exit. A wave of heat, pollen and animal stink hit them right in the face when they opened the glass doors. Jeremy swallowed at the sight of the dim brick path winding past net and glass enclosures, going on and on and on until it was swallowed by pitch darkness.

“Okay, um, where are we going?” Jeremy pulled out his map and held it up to the moon. “The wolf enclosure is in the, uh, the, uh-“ He scanned over the map with his finger. “-The wolf enclosure is…in the North American section. Fucking finally.”

“Sure it is, buddy, but Ryan’s not exactly a purebred wolf. They might have put him somewhere else.”

“Where else is there?”

Geoff’s finger poked into his field of view and landed on the far side of the map. “This fucker says it’s hybrids and rescues. He’s probably there.”

“Do they know he’s a hybrid, though?”

“Uh…if they have his vet records…they could? I don’t fucking know.”

“Guess we’re gonna haveta check both of ‘em after all.” Jeremy sighed and put the map back in his pocket. “I’ll check the rescues, and you check the wolves.”

“Why me?”

“Well, the wolves are closer, and well…” Jeremy grinned. “You’re not exactly getting any younger, pal.”

“Well…you can…fuck off, Jeremy.”

Jeremy laughed and moved into the darkness.

* * *

 

An uneventful twenty minutes later, Jeremy rounded a corner and finally found the Rescues section. Most of the cages were smaller than his bedroom, so he paid them no mind and looked at the map again. A few more turns later, the pathway dead-ended in a vast field and forest exhibit. He moved closer and peered over the cinderblock wall. A gigantic trench sat in between him and the grass. He swallowed and looked back at the wall. A tiny plaque embedded on top of the half wall informed him that this area was meant to hold rescued wolfdogs.

His heart fluttered in his throat.

“Uh, Geoff? I think I might be on to something.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“There’s a wolfdog exhibit in the Rescues section. They must get a lot of ‘em or something. Just…you know…fucking get over here!”

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way. I’m not _that_ fucking old.”

Jeremy laughed and looked back at the enclosure. Unfortunately, it was too dark for him to make anything out besides shadows in between the trees. He shrugged and ran his flashlight over the various plywood displays set up around the little wall. Most explained how wolfdogs were actually incredibly dangerous and too much for most people to handle. Sun damage had faded the pictures and letters quite a bit by this point. Jeremy rolled his eyes and moved on.

The last display looked to be brand new, with red paint shining in the flashlight and every brushstroke still pronounced on the plywood. Jeremy spared it a glance, made to move on, and then did a double take. When he actually read the display’s content, he nearly dropped his flashlight in shock.

_Introducing…the Reaper!_

_This deadly stalker of Los Santos’ criminal underbelly first appeared four years ago in the possession of a powerful gang. The skull-shaped markings on his face garnered the nickname ‘the Reaper’ and thus began a reign of terror thugs, police and civilians alike wouldn’t soon forget. This dangerous wolfdog was finally cornered, subdued and brought here to New Eden, where he will live indefinitely. The Reaper is considered by most experts to be the prime example of the dangers of wolfdog ownership._

A black outline of a wolf on a rocky outcrop sat beneath the blurb. A stylized wolf skull had been painted on its snarling face, and its eyes were two narrowed red slits. Jeremy blinked at it a few more seconds, a grin curling over his face. He put his fingers to his earpiece and let his weight rest on his back foot.

“Hey, Jack?”

A few moments passed before he finally answered. “What? Something wrong?”

“How much room is there in the Kuruma?”

“Uh…why are you asking?”

“I’ve just seen something we _desperately_ need back in the penthouse.”

“Jeremy, we’re here to get Ryan back.”

“If you saw it, you’d understand!”

“Jeremy, the fuck do you want to steal from this place?” asked Geoff “It’s fucking hard enough dealing with _one_ wolfdog!”

“I swear to God, it’s not an animal!”

A set of footsteps rounded the corner. Geoff walked up to Jeremy and opened his mouth. His eyes flicked to the sign, and whatever he was about to say died almost immediately.

“Oh my God we need this.”

Jack sighed. “Geoff, not you too…”

“Jack, you don’t understand, this is the funniest shit I’ve seen all week.”

“Do I have to remind you why we’re in a fucking zoo in the middle of the fucking night? We. Are. Here. To. Get. Ryan.”

“I know, I know.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why they build a fucking trench around the wolfdogs,” said Jeremy. “The fuck is it supposed to do?”

“It’s to keep them from getting out,” said Gavin. “They’re all fast and jumpy and shite, so they need a way to keep them from escaping that’s also not harmful, yeah?”

“So…a trench is the best way to do that?”

“They’re not _stupid,_ Jeremy. They’re not going to do anything that could get them hurt.”

“What about bars? Or…those fucking…rope nets?”

“Bars look cruel, don’t it? And nets are for _birds,_ Jeremy. Wolves can’t exactly fly away.”

“Okay, it’s great there’s a humane way to keep the wolves from escaping. How the fuck are _we_ supposed to get _in?_ ” asked Geoff.

“Hold on…” Keys clacked for a few moments. “Try to look for some sort of service entrance or an ‘Employees Only’ door. You might be able to get in through the place where they rotate out the animals.”

“Okay, let’s…wait, they rotate out the animals?”

“Yeah! Y’know, they’ll have different groups of animals out at different times. Like the male lions on Wednesday and all the females on Thursday.”

“What, don’t want kids seeing the Circle of Life?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, assholes, enough with the chitchat. We’re losing time as it is.” Geoff finally moved past the display and scanned around the little cul-de-sac. “There!” He pointed to a little pathway barred with a rope and a sign saying ‘Stop! Employees ONLY beyond this point.’ He kicked the rope out of the way and stepped down the path. Jeremy rolled his eyes and followed behind him.

The little path wound through several different gardens of leafy plants and ended at a door set in a plain beige wall. This also had ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ written on it in bold red letters. A keypad sat above the door’s handle. Geoff swore under his breath.

“Gav, you still there?”

“What do you need, Geoff?”

“Is there any way you can bypass this employee’s only door?”

“Uh…hold on…” He typed at a keyboard for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I see where you’re at, but…it’s not exactly…hold on.” A beat of silence. “There’s a spiral with this month’s codes in it. You want to try some of those?”

“Oh, God, we’re going to be here all fucking night,” said Jeremy.

“Okay, it looks like it’s going to be a four digit number, I don’t know _which_ door you’re at, unfortunately, so I’m going to give you a passcode, and you tell me whether or not it’s good, all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking stoked to be doing this.” He bent down and eyed the keypad dubiously. “God, there’s like, a _billion_ possible combinations for this fucker.”

“Not a billion, Geoff! A lot, yeah, but not a billion.” Pages rustled over the comm. “All right, these are the ones for your general area, so…try…four nine one one.”

“Do I hit anything after that?”

“Uh…I don’t think so. Looks like the light will flash green and the door will unlock if you enter the right one.”

Geoff pressed each button carefully. The keypad buzzed angrily and flashed red. “That wasn’t it.”

“Okay. No big deal. Let’s try…five naught two six.”

“What’s naught?”

“Zero. Idiot.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Geoff tried this code. Again it buzzed and flashed red. “Still wrong, asshole.”

“Hey! No need for that!” More pages flipped. “Okay, how about this one…seven eight seven two.”

“This better be it, or I’m cutting your salary for the next month.”

“What? Why?”

Geoff stabbed at the buttons. The light flashed green, and a kaTHUNK sounded from the lock. “Don’t worry, Gav, your salary’s safe.”

“Thank Christ.”

He pushed the door open, and he and Jeremy entered the dark building. A wall of animal stink hit them right in the nose. Jeremy coughed into his sleeve and took a deep breath in through his mouth. “Okay, we’re in the animal…switchout…thing. Which way to the wolfdogs?”

“Uh…are there any fucking signs anywhere?” Geoff flicked his flashlight over the walls. Several pairs of eyes blinked back at him from behind bars, and he gulped. “Shit, this is creepy.”

“Let’s just…you know, keep moving, and hopefully we’ll see wolfdogs,” said Jeremy.

“Great plan, Jeremy. A plus.”

“Thanks, boss.”

They crept through the cage-lined hallways, breathing through their mouths to fight the stench of animal shit and piss drifting through the air. Several growls and hisses followed them through the complex, and Jeremy did his best to ignore the eyes following him down the hall. His fingers curled around the butt of his pistol.

Finally, the flashlight stumbled upon a little white sign set into the wall next to one of the cages. It simply read _Wolfdogs – Handle with Care._

“Finally! Jesus.”

Jeremy knelt down and examined the door. It looked like a standard prison-style affair; solid steel bars, lock set in the door, and absolutely, utterly impossible to break down. He frowned and looked back up at Geoff.

“Do we have any lockpicks?”

“We _should..._ ” Geoff patted down his pockets and spun around in place. “Shit…hold on…fuck…I don’t think…I _brought_ any…shit.” He blinked down at Jeremy. “Do _you_ have any?”

Jeremy rifled through his own pockets and pouches. Ammo, knives, flare gun, fuck, fuck, _fuck._ He was just about to lose it when he checked his last pouch and found his lockpicking kit. He sighed and pulled it out. “Found ‘em.”

“Thank Christ.”

He let out a breathy laugh and cracked open the kit. It took him a minute or two to get a feel for the lock, but eventually he forced the pins to turn right. There was a _thunk,_ and the door swung open. Jeremy glanced around the inside of the little holding area, and thankfully the three wolfdogs within remained asleep. An ear twitched here, a nose wiggled there, but otherwise they stayed in their straw piles.

“We need to be quiet,” he mouthed at Geoff.

“No shit,” Geoff replied.

They stepped into the holding area and made their way to the back wall. Jeremy’s heart pounded harder and harder with every step. His hand clenched around his gun, and he expected eyes to snap open and teeth to lash his skin at any second. The fact that it still wasn’t happening didn’t help at all.

When they reached the back wall, Jeremy felt along it for any sort of door or outline or whatever. His fingers happened upon a cool metal latch. He fumbled with it for a few seconds, slid it back, and pushed. An entire chunk of wall opened out onto a grassy patch, and cool air rushed into the room. Jeremy breathed in deep and let himself relax a micrometer.

That relaxation went straight out the window when hay rustled behind him, and he turned to see three wolfdogs rushing them. Geoff let out a high strangled noise and fumbled with his gun, but the beasts ignored him in favor of the open air. They loped past the two criminals and disappeared into the enclosure.

“Jesus Christ…I thought…I thought that was it for us,” said Geoff. He let his gun fall to his side and bent over to pant. “We…we need to find Ryan… _now_.”

“Why do you think we’re here, Geoff?” asked Jeremy. “I mean, that display thing _was_ pretty damn awesome.”

“Shut…shut up.”

Jeremy smiled and moved into the enclosure. A howl sounded from across the way, followed by another, and another. He swallowed and flicked his light around. Nothing around him but grass and trees. Another howl rang out, louder this time. Wind swept around him and rustled the leaves on the trees. A howl mixed in with the wind and drifted closer and closer.

Jeremy decided to risk it. He cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep breath.

“Ryan! You here, pal? It’s us! We’re here to rescue you!”

“The fuck are you doing?” Geoff’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed hard. “They’re gonna fucking kill us, dude!”

“I want to get out of here as quickly as fucking possible, and this is the only way to do it! Unless you brought fucking night vision goggles!”

A snarl sounded from behind them and they both froze. Ghostly green eyes flickered to life in the flashlight’s glow and shifted back into shadow. A cloud shifted, and moonlight dappled several furry bodies. Geoff cocked his pistol and whipped it around. Jeremy’s fingers clenched around the silencer on the end of his own and scrambled to unscrew it. It would definitely blow their cover, but maybe the noise of the gunshot would-

Something hit Jeremy right in the back and knocked him to the ground. Geoff shouted, and yips echoed from around them. Hot breath panted over the back of his neck, and Jeremy was sure this was it. He closed his eyes and braced himself. Paws bounced off his back, and a tongue lapped at his neck. His thighs shook back and forth in time with the wolfdog’s entire lower body.

“I’ll be goddamned,” said Geoff. He suddenly laughed, loud and long and maniacal. “I’ve missed your dumb face, Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Jeremy lifted his head and immediately felt himself being forced back down. “Buddy, I’m glad to see you too, but can you _please_ get off me?” The weight immediately shifted, and a huge blue-eyed skull jammed itself into his face, quickly accompanied by a wet tongue on his cheeks. Jeremy grinned and sunk his fingers into that lovely thick ruff of fur around his neck.

“The fuck am I, chopped liver?” Geoff walked over and patted Ryan’s rump. The wolfdog turned and put his paws on his chest. His tail wagged and hit Jeremy in the face five or six times. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I was about to say, he _likes_ chopped liver, doesn’t he?” Jeremy pushed himself back to his feet and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Fuck, I don’t think there’s any sort of food he _doesn’t_ like.”

“That’s too fucking true,” said Geoff. Ryan tilted his head and grinned up at him. “Seriously, you’re going to be a fat little fucker one day.”

A growl rattled through the air and wiped the smiles right off their faces. Ryan’s good ear flicked and flattened against his head. He snarled back and whirled around. His salt and pepper fur stood on end and his tail whipped back and forth, left-right-left-right-left.

“Oh no, I’m not going through this shit with you again, asshole!” Geoff tried to grab his collar, only to discover it had since been removed. “Fuck.”

Jeremy remembered what he’d tried to do before and finished removing his silencer. “Gavin, where are all the guards at right now?” he asked.

“Uh, well, there’s about four or five of them, all told, and most of them aren’t terribly near your position. They’re a little unsettled, though, because of the guard you killed. Whatever you’re doing, you need to hurry up!”

“I’m, uh, I’m asking because I’m totally going to blow our cover, so you should probably…uh…what’s that thing you say? ‘Leg it’?”

“Oh no,” said Jack.

“Yeah, you should be ready too, Jack.”

Ryan lolled back on his paws and snarled again. Just when he was about to lunge, Jeremy aimed the gun up at the sky and fired. The shot echoed through the empty zoo, and a frantic scurrying replaced the growling. Both Gavin and Jack yelled in Jeremy’s earpiece, but he ignored them in favor of pushing Geoff back toward the holding pen. Ryan gave Jeremy a withering look.

“Sorry, pal, we don’t have time for your wolf dick measuring.”

Ryan huffed, but followed after them without further fuss. Jeremy broke into a jog and hurried after Geoff. The wolfdog lagged behind him and occasionally let out a growl. A howl echoed behind them. Jeremy fired his gun up in the air again. Another bang rang through the empty air, followed by the sounds of all sorts of panicking animals. It spread through the zoo like wildfire, and the silent night air filled with howls, barks, growls, screeches, screams and roars.

“The guards are moving toward your position now, and…” Gavin trailed off for a few moments too long. “…oh, bugger my arse, I think one of them’s radioed the police.”

“Shit shit shit shit _shit!_ ” Jeremy ducked into the holding area and sprinted down the hall. More animals yammered around them, but thankfully their cages were still shut, so all they could do was cry out. Ryan stopped by a few of the cages and snuffled through the bars, but quickly followed when Jeremy pulled ahead of them.

Geoff waited for them by the exit. He nodded as soon as Jeremy approached and shoved the door open.

“Gav, you pull out and get back to Jack! We’ll be there as soon as we can!”

“Don’t need to tell me twice!”

Ryan sped out in front of them, his tail held high. His tongue flopped out of his mouth, and he almost seemed to dance down the stone path. It was a sight Jeremy had sorely missed, and it took some of the edges off the stone in his stomach.

Something he missed significantly less was the sight of flashlights approaching them, and, in the distance, still incredibly faint but growing louder by the second, the sound of police sirens. Geoff swore and held his gun up.

“Jack, you better be ready to fucking _move,_ okay?”

“Already on it.”

“Gavin, what about you?”

“I’m wiping the feeds right now. Should be done in a few minutes…”

“Gavin, you need to get out of there _now!_ ”

“Just a minute!”

“We don’t _have_ a fucking minute! When I say you need to go _now,_ you need to go _right fucking now!_ ”

“Wait! _Wait!_ Hold on! We forgot something!” Jeremy turned tail and sprinted back a few yards. He scooped up the handpainted _Introducing the Reaper_ display, hoisted it over his shoulder with one hand and readied his gun with the other. “Okay, got it. Ready to go now.”

“Jeremy, what the Christ are you doing? You have to – ”

Gavin’s reply was lost when the first of the guards rounded the corner and surprised them. Jeremy leveled his gun at him, but Ryan was much faster. He leaped and hit the guard dead on, and had his throat between his teeth by the time he hit the pavement. Blood spurted from between his powerful jaws, and the guard’s shriek was lost to the crunch of bone and flesh. In moments, he’d moved on and they were able to keep going.

“It’s so fucking good to have you back, Rye,” said Geoff.

Ryan let out a little boof that was presumably in agreement.

They made it through the rest of the zoo in five minutes flat, though both Geoff and Jeremy panted and puffed like bellows and sweat profusely beneath their armor. Ryan reared up and pushed the door open with both paws, swayed through and was down the hallway before Geoff and Jeremy were even close. Shrieks and curses sounded over their earpieces, which gave them a pretty clear picture on what was happening with Gavin. They pushed themselves faster, breath heaving in and out of their chests, and made it back to the security room. Another dead security guard lay in the doorway, and when Jeremy poked his head around the corner, a bullet nicked his cheek and embedded in the wall behind him. He let out a little squeal and ducked down. The display slipped over his front and thudded solidly on the ground.

“Don’t you come any closer, you…oh…Ryan! Ryan, you’re back! Lovely Ryan!”

“Gavin, did you just shoot at us?!”

Geoff pushed his way into the room and kicked the swivel chair out of the way. Gavin sat in the miniscule space under the desk. He cooed at Ryan and smushed his cheeks, speech devolving quickly into British babytalk. Ryan’s tongue lapped at his cheeks, though he did occasionally shift in place and glance up at Geoff.

After several seconds of infantile praises, Geoff kicked Gavin in the knee. He squawked and looked up at them, hand up in surrender. He blinked several times. “Oh. Hi, Geoff.”

“C’mon, idiot, before I leave you for the fucking cops!” He hauled Gavin up by the collar and shoved him into the hallway. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even forget that you tried to _blow Jeremy’s head off!_ ”

“What? No, I’d never-”

“Well, you did! Now shut the fuck up and keep moving, or I swear I’ll handcuff you to a pipe my-goddamn-self.”

Gavin opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it, and took off down the hallway. Geoff growled something under his breath and moved to follow him. Jeremy toddled after him, the display scraping on the ground in his wake, the closeness and utter stupidity of his recent brush with death dancing in front of his eyes. Ryan stayed close this time, bumping the back of his legs to keep him moving and occasionally giving his hand a nuzzle.

A breeze cooled the sweat on his skin and snapped Jeremy out of his near-death funk. He shook his head, hoisted his gun and followed Geoff and Gavin to the waiting Kuruma. Already a veritable disco of red and blue lights danced across the zoo walls, and shouting echoed across the way. All four doors popped open, and Jack waved frantically from the driver’s seat. They ran in a little cluster and jumped as one amorphous being into the back of the suddenly very small Kuruma. Jeremy’s cheek squished into the opposite door and the weight of all the crew was focused right on his legs, and they didn’t like that at all. The wolfdog display jammed itself into several pockets of flesh, and only dug in harder with every movement they made. Jack starting the car and zooming through the grass definitely didn’t help the situation.

“Ow, ow, _ow!_ Get the fuck off me! You’re crushing my fucking legs!”

“ _I’m_ on _you?!_ How about _you_ get your fucking feet off _my_ dick?!”

“Christ alive, I’m gonna suffocate by the time you nobheads stop arguing! Just…just _move!_ ”

While they argued, Ryan wiggled out of the pile of flesh and crawled over the center console. He sniffed the new car thoroughly, turned in the passenger seat a few times, and nosed the Kuruma’s tiny window slit. Jack reached over and patted Ryan’s neck.

“Sorry, Ryan, these windows don’t roll down. You’ll get plenty of fresh air and car rides when we get back to Los Santos.”

Lights flashed across the windshield, followed by a hail of bullets. Jack grit his teeth and pushed the gas pedal down to the floor. The Kuruma shot over the curb and slammed right into a parked cop car. Blood burst across the windshield, glass and bone alike smashed, but the car pushed through the wreckage and sped onto the highway. Jack flipped on the wipers and spent a few quiet moments spraying the windshield and running the wipers until the bloodstain was more manageable. Ryan growled and closely watched the window.

The mess in the backseat finally sorted itself out when Jeremy wrapped his arms around the passenger seat’s headrest and pulled himself free. With him free, Geoff was able to push Gavin into the middle seat and rammed his face into the window.

“Shit, we’ve got company coming, and fucking _fast,_ too. Do we have any guns on this thing?”

“It’s a _Kuruma,_ not a fucking _tank!_ ” The car screamed around the corner and smashed into another barricade. “The best we can do is shoot back!”

“From _where?!_ ”

“The fucking…I don’t know…holes in the armor! Fucking shoot through that!”

Jeremy and Geoff squirmed around in the seats and wedged the muzzle of his gun through one of the slits in the window. It took some doing, but eventually he got the hang of the awkward angle and was able to pop a few tires here and there. Gavin did his best to worm his way into the passenger seat, but ended up laying on the center console, upper half largely balanced on Ryan’s back. His shots careened wildly around the street and hit about half of their intended targets. He screeched and shouted while Ryan grumbled and yipped beneath him.

“So, uh, what’s the plan, Geoff?” Jack’s voice was deceptively calm considering the speed at which he was driving and the amount of chunkified cop sticking to the windshield. “How exactly are we supposed to get back to Los Santos?”

“First, we need to get back to the beach, and then the B-Team’ll take care of the rest! Now, _go!_ ”

Jack nodded and shot down the highway. Sirens screamed around them, and occasionally Ryan howled along with them. Bullets rang off the Kuruma’s armor, and Geoff said about twelve times a minute how much they all needed one. Unfortunately, Jeremy had run low on bullets, Gavin was already out, and Geoff had exactly one bullet left in his gun. Signs for the beach claimed it was only ten miles away, which, if Jack continued at his current speed, meant they only needed a few more minutes. Still, that was a few minutes with no defenses growing increasingly more surrounded by cops. They hunkered down behind the doors and prepared themselves for the worst.

The Kuruma crashed through a set of wooden benches and picnic tables and skidded through the sand. Clouds of dust and grit drifted up in their wake, and Jeremy had to brace himself against the door to stop himself from rattling around like a marble in a can.

“Geoff, what the fuck’s supposed to happen _now?!_ ”

Geoff sat up, hit his head on the roof of the car, put his fingers to his ear and said, “B-Team, where the fuck are you!?”

“I see you, I see you!” Trevor’s voice suddenly crackled over their earpieces. “We’re working on getting this thing down, I promise!”

A great wall of glistening brownish-gray rock erupted in the distance, and an equally menacing wall of cops sprouted up behind the Kuruma. Time had run out; they would either smash into the rocks and die, or get surrounded by cops and die. Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and huddled down in the seat.

Suddenly, the juddering sound of a helicopter’s rotors filled their ears. A moment later, the car’s back end lifted up off the ground with a metallic _CLANG!_ Jeremy nearly fell in the floorboard when the Kuruma’s front lifted off the ground and the car swung back and forward. He pulled himself up and squinted out the slit in the window. He couldn’t quite get the angle necessary to see everything, but he could see the shadow of the cargobob splayed across the sand.

“We’ve got you, boss! Next stop, Los Santos!”

“Did we do it? Did we make it?” asked Geoff.

Nobody responded for a minute. As the cargobob continued to ascend and turned toward the ocean, it finally sank in. Jeremy let out a cheer, Geoff yelled and clapped his hands, Gavin warbled loudly and Jack sighed and let his head rest against the steering wheel. Ryan huffed a few times and finally let out a loud howl. Jeremy reached forward and ruffled his ears. Gavin hugged the pup and buried his face in his fur. Jack reached over and found an open patch of fur to pat. Geoff sagged back into the leather seat and let his head flop back onto the headrest.

“God, I’m so glad you’re okay, Ry-Bread,” said Jeremy.

“We’re going home now, bud. We’re going home,” said Jack.

Ryan’s eyes drifted shut. His tongue dribbled on the floorboard with every pant leaving his muzzle. His tail did its best to wag beneath the weight of two men.

Geoff sighed and sprawled over the back seat. He blinked several times and cleared his throat. “Uh…Jeremy?”

“What?”

“Did…did you _actually_ steal that fucking Reaper display?!”

“Yeah, dude! It’s cool!”

They were quiet for a moment. Then Geoff snorted and let out a laugh. In between breaths he managed to say, “Do you…did you…all that time…we were running…you had that fucking thing?! Are you fucking serious? Jeremy…Jeremy you stupid bastard!”

“Look, I made it out okay, didn’t I? And I got the thing, didn’t I?”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack shook his head. “You really are one of us.”

Geoff clapped Jeremy’s shoulder and got himself back under control. “Yep. That’s the sort of dumb shit this crew stands for. You’ll fit in just fine with the rest of these idiots.”

“Yeah, you’re perfect, Li’l J!” said Gavin. “Michael thinks so, too.”

“God, what’s he gonna think of all this when he wakes up?”

“He’s gonna be a pisspot ‘cause he missed the heist, but after he calms down, he’ll be right impressed,” said Gavin.

“I hope Caleb’s ready,” said Geoff, “because he’s in for one _hell_ of a shitshow.”

“At least for us the shitshow’s over,” said Jack.

“Damn right.” Geoff sank back into the seat and sighed. “We’re going to have a fucking vacation after this. B-Team and the other fuckers can handle operations for the time being. Right now, all I see in my future is video games and fucking Jack Daniels.”

That, for the time being, was the last word on the matter. The lateness of the hour and exertion sank deep into Jeremy’s muscles as the adrenaline ebbed. He settled back into the seat and shut his eyes. His shins bumped up against the display and he let out a little giggle. Maybe he’d hang it on Ryan’s door. A little homage to this whole adventure. Or maybe it would go above the fireplace, like any good trophy should. He’d decide later.

For now, he finally felt the contentment that came from a job well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Hopefully I'll have the epilogue done by the end of the month (emphasis on hopefully) but except for some oneshots I might write later on the future, that'll be the end of Four-Legged Fiend. Hope y'all enjoyed the ride. :)


	15. Epilogue: A Party Well Earned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After many ups and downs, injuries, stress, and general shittiness, the boys finally get a day to themselves, and they live it up in style.

Shouts rang out through the penthouse and jolted Jeremy out of an otherwise peaceful sleep. He pulled his face out of the pillow and blinked at the wall for a few moments. He remembered the end of the heist well enough, but he had no idea when or how they'd made it back home. Yet here he was, safe and sound in his bed, and still in his heist armor, for fuck's sake. He rolled over and set his feet on the floor. With a yawn and a thorough scrubbing of his eyes, he pushed himself up and tottered over to the bathroom door.

One long, warm shower later, he dressed himself in a purple tank top and bright orange sweatpants and headed out into the penthouse proper. He'd only taken one step into the living room when something barreled toward him at breakneck speeds and leaped to consume his field of vision. A barrage of squeaks drowned out every other noise in the room.

Jeremy smiled blearily and patted in the general direction of the blur. "G'morning, Ryan."

Four squeaks sounded, and the pup panted in his ear. Then Ryan turned tail and ran back into the kitchen. A shriek rattled the half-empty glasses on the dining room table, and some glass thing smashed to the ground. Jeremy yawned and rounded the corner.

"Jeremy! Thank _God_ you're here! Quick, get this fucking furry asshole outta here before he cleans out the whole fucking kitchen!"

Jeremy blinked and squinted at the foyer. Edgar lay abandoned at the kitchen's entrance while Ryan was nose deep in a fallen white box. Several fragments of white ceramic lay at Geoff's feet, and brown liquid wicked up into his socks. He gibbered for a few seconds when Jeremy just blinked at him.

"Dude, get your butt in here! We gotta save at least _some_ of the kolaches!"

Jeremy walked into the kitchen and stooped to pick up Edgar. He squeaked him. Ryan didn't so much as look up. Now that he had moved closer, he could hear Ryan's frantic smacking and slurping. Flecks of pastry, cheese and meat decorated Ryan's whiskers and dotted the floor.

"I...I don't think they can be saved, Geoff."

"What's going on?" Jack walked in behind Jeremy and froze at the sight before him. " _Ryan!_ "

The wolfdog's good ear shot upright. He glanced up and locked eyes with Jack. He grabbed the box's lid with his teeth and sped out of the kitchen. A single, half-eaten kolache flopped out of the box and smacked to the ground during Ryan's retreat. He zoomed through the dining room and took off for the patio before anyone could even say "Bad wolf!"

"Goddammit, Geoff, I _told_ you to put those into the fridge until everyone woke up!"

"Who the fuck wants cold kolaches instead of fucking fresh ones?" Geoff flopped down on a bar stool and stripped his socks off with a grimace. "Besides, he knocked my favorite mug off the counter and smashed it to shit."

"I get the feeling that was on purpose," said Jeremy. "He's a devious little bastard."

"Probably," said Jack. He bent over, pulled a plastic bag out from under the sink, and set about cleaning up the mug fragments. "I love him and I hate him, you know?"

"Well, at least he's reminding us why we lock the fridge up," said Geoff. "Guess I'd better go order more fucking kolaches. Fucking prick." He pushed himself back up and headed into the living room.

"There's coffee if you want it, Jeremy," said Jack.

"Mmkay." He set Edgar down on the island, wandered over to the cupboard and pulled a cup out at random. The coffeemaker took up a good half yard of counterspace; apparently it was one of those buffet affairs or some shit, and held several gallons of the good old brown stuff. Jeremy helped himself to the sugar bowl and Geoff's half-and-half before plopping himself down at the table and putting his chin in his hand.

"You seen Gavin this morning?" Jeremy shook his head. "Didn't think so."

"Is...uh...is there any word on...has Caleb called about Michael yet?"

"Not that I know of. I don’t think we're going to hear from him for a while yet, so let's assume no news is good news."

Jeremy groaned into his coffee cup. "But I don't _like_ not knowing, Jack!"

Jack sighed again. "I don't either."

A _click-click-click_ pattered over to the table, and a long nose poked Jeremy's tummy. He looked down in time to see Ryan rest his head on his knee. There were still kolache remnants clinging to his whiskers, though his tongue was making quick work of them. Despite their ruined breakfast, Jeremy couldn't help smiling down at him, and rubbed behind his half-ear.

"Hey, buddy. It's good to see you again," he said. Ryan beamed and wagged his tail.

"Yeah, how's it going, asshole? Are you happy now that you've eaten two dozen fucking kolaches?" Jack glared down at Ryan and smacked his backside. "See if _you_ get any treats today. Fucker." Ryan whined and brushed up against Jack's leg. "Nope. You are _not_ guilting me into forgiving you."

“Aww, but look at this _face,_ Jack!” Jeremy patted his lap until Ryan lifted his upper half up onto him. He turned to look at Jack with wide baby blue eyes and grinned. “Can you really stay mad at this face?”

Jack still scowled at Ryan for a good minute or so, and then sighed for a third time and smiled. “No, and he fucking _knows_ it, too.” He reached out and threaded his fingers through Ryan’s ruff. “Still…it was pretty quiet without him around. Even if he’s a little shit, it’s better than…not having him around.”

Ryan clambered onto the table and padded over to lick Jack’s forehead. His tail wagged and hit Jeremy in the face several times.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, dickhead. Now get off the fucking table!” Ryan hopped down and padded down the hallway.

Not too long afterwards, Geoff reentered the dining room and sat down at the table. “Okay, I’ve ordered more fucking kolaches. Also, remind me never to be honest with delivery people. Tired of being the fucking laughingstock of minimum wage workers.”

“Look at it this way, Geoff. You probably made some poor asshole’s morning,” said Jack. “God knows those jobs are soulsucking.”

Geoff huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I know that. I just wish it wasn’t _me_ they were laughing at.”

“C’mon, Geoff, we laugh at you all the time!” said Jeremy. “What’s so different about one stranger laughing at you?”

Geoff’s response was cut off by his phone ringing again. “If this is about the fucking kolaches I’m gonna fucking shoot myself.” He set his phone on the table and turned it on speaker. “The fuck is calling me?”

“Uh…hi, Geoff. It’s Caleb.”

Everyone leaned in to the phone call, smiles and mirth immediately abandoned.

“Caleb? What’s going on? Is Michael okay?” Geoff’s hands gripped the edge of the table until the knuckles went white. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, he’s…he’s great. He woke up…he woke up this morning actually.”

Just as quickly as it came, all the tension left the table. Jeremy sagged into his chair, Jack let out a deep breath, and Geoff smiled. “That’s great! How is he?”

Something thudded in the background, and a new voice bellowed over the receiver. “WHO’S THAT? ARE THOSE FUCKERS CALLING? TELL THEM THEY’RE FUCKING _DEAD_ TO ME!” They all flinched at the horrible popping and crackling accompanying Michael’s screeching.

“I put the news on for him so he could hear how you guys were, and, uh, well, they were showing footage of your most recent…heist, I guess. He’s, uh, a little ticked off that you pulled it off without him.”

Something in the background smashed to pieces, and Michael’s voice crackled through the receiver, much louder this time. “IT’S ALL ANYBODY’S FUCKING TALKING ABOUT, AND YOU FUCKING _LEFT_ ME IN A GODDAMN _HOSPITAL BED!_ ” Something else crashed, and footsteps tapped unsteadily closer and closer to the phone.

“Hey! _Hey!_ You’re not supposed to be up yet! If you pull out your stitches, you could _die!_ ”

“Uh…do you need any help?” Jeremy asked.

“I’ve got it under control, I swear.” A third crash rang through the call. Caleb let out a breath. “That better not have been his IV, goddammit. Anyway, just thought you’d want to know. He’s fine.”

“I AM _NOT_ FINE, I’M FUCKING PISSED OFF YOU FUCKING PRICK!”

“Mind if I talk to you later, Geoff? When I’m not about to violate the Hippocratic Oath?”

“Sure, Caleb. Thanks for the update.”

“Bye for now.”

The call ended rather unceremoniously after that. All three of them sat around the table and stared at the grains threaded over its surface. The quiet sounds of a Halo match abruptly halted in the distance, followed by a telltale Gavin-esque squeal. The phone sat in the middle of the table.

“Well, I guess I should be glad he’s okay,” said Jack.

“He’s fine,” said Geoff. He stood and grabbed his phone. “He’s just being a pissy little baby.”

“He sounded fine. I mean, unless I’m crazy, Caleb almost sounded _scared,_ ” said Jeremy.

“Nah, Caleb’s pretty used to his shit by now. If anything, he’s probably going to charge me double for this.” Geoff moved back into the living room and flopped down onto the couch. “And he knows I’ll pay it, too. Medics are fucking hard to come by in this shithole, and the fucker _knows_ that.”

Jack and Jeremy laughed at that and turned back to their coffee. Jeremy sat up a little straighter and sipped carefully at his coffee. Ryan was home, nobody was badly injured, their place in Los Santos was secure, and Michael was fully awake and ready to rumble, if the call was anything to go by. A tension Jeremy had long since become used to eased from his chest and shoulders.

A commotion sounded from the hallway. Jeremy glanced up in time to see Gavin running down the hall, Ryan hot on his heels. Though the Brit screeched and howled fearfully, he had a huge grin on his face and practically bounced down the hallway. Ryan’s tongue flopped up and down, up and down, and he loped along in Gavin’s wake. Ryan had long since stopped being overtly malicious to Gavin, but he, like the rest of the crew, loved to tease him in his own wolfy way. Gavin moved to hide behind Geoff, who immediately shoved him to the ground with a yell.

Even with Michael’s absence, it already felt like everything was back to normal.

* * *

 

By lunchtime, several new plans of action had taken root. Jack planned a big party for Ryan to celebrate his coming home in one piece, while Geoff coordinated with Caleb to bring Michael home early. Apparently, the medic was one outburst away from putting Michael on a permanent morphine drip. Considering how bad of an idea that was, Geoff decided it would be much wiser to bring the pissed off demoman home and deal with him there. Jeremy and Gavin were given some much needed time off, though they were warned to do their best to keep a low profile, or as Geoff put it, “If you get in trouble, your dumb ass is staying in trouble.”

Jeremy had to admit, it was weird to do nothing after so much planning and action. Sitting on the couch nearly bored him to tears, so he strapped a wiggly and antsy Ryan into his harness and took him on a walk around the Fakes’ turf. He avoided the area where the tank-cargobob had crashed; cops still crawled everywhere like angry ants, and it was a guaranteed way to end up in the slammer. It didn’t help that he was walking an escaped convict with incredibly recognizable markings and a propensity to rip throats out. Still, the Fakes had enough territory to provide a dozen alternate routes, so he gave no more thought to it and let Ryan lead him away.

After an hour, Ryan slowed down and panted like mad. His great shaggy flank pressed against Jeremy’s side and bit by bit leaned more and more of his weight on Jeremy, to the point where his knees nearly collapsed with every step. Any attempt to push him off resulted in Ryan practically draping himself over Jeremy, so he decided it was probably time to go home.

The first thing he heard when he made it back to the penthouse was a cascade of shouting.

“Guess Michael’s back,” he said to Ryan. Ryan’s ear perked up. All traces of exhaustion vanished, and he bounded to the end of his leash and pawed at the doorknob. Jeremy smiled and turned the knob for him.

“-fine, for the thousandth time!”

Michael’s angry voice reached them immediately, and after a brief look around, Jeremy quickly figured out why. He lay on the couch, bandaged back up in the air, and ranted at Caleb and Geoff, who were standing next to him talking about something.

Ryan growled and turned to gnaw at his harness. Jeremy did his best to bat his muzzle away while he undid the clasps. The moment the clip came undone, Ryan shook himself until the harness hit the ground and ran into the living room. He cleared the couch in one leap and pushed his face into Michael’s. His tail wagged and scattered a sheaf of papers over the wooden floor. Despite himself, Michael smiled and bumped his forehead against Ryan’s markings.

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too, asshole.”

Caleb leaped onto the opportunity and said, “Okay, Geoff, you _do_ know what you have to do, right? His bandages need to be changed at _least_ twice a day, ten days from now I’ll need to take his stitches out, and for the love of Christ, please _try_ to make him rest.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t need-”

“Yes, Michael, you _do_ need to rest! Do you even realize how _badly_ you were injured? If that turret had cut any deeper, at the very fucking _best_ you’d be paralyzed from the waist down and peeing through a fucking catheter.” Michael opened his mouth, but a sharp gesture from Caleb quelled any argument. “I’ve given Geoff more sedatives, so if you decide I’m not worth listening to…well, I’ve washed my hands of it, I’ll tell you that fucking much.”

Geoff looked incredibly lost. “Uh…well, I…”

Luckily Jack rounded the corner to save them from themselves. “I’ll handle it, Caleb, don’t worry.” He gathered up the papers and pried a small orange bottle out of Geoff’s hand. “We’ll make sure you have your payment before nightfall.”

Caleb let out a sigh of relief and nodded. “I feel much better knowing he’s in your hands, Jack.”

Michael groaned and let his face flop into the couch. Ryan snuffled his back and growled low in his throat. He padded over to Jack, sniffed the pill bottle, and growled again. Jack let his hand rest on Ryan’s forehead and rubbed gentle circles between his eyes.

“Between me and Ryan, I’m sure we can handle him.”

Jeremy swore Ryan nodded and glared over at Michael.

“Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun,” said Geoff.

“What is?” Gavin rounded the corner and froze upon seeing Michael stretched out on the couch. “Oh – _Michael!_ Michael, Michael, you’re back, Michael!” He moved forward and stopped again when Jack fixed him with a death stare. “Is…is he alright, then?”

Michael looked up and glared around the room. “I keep telling everyone I’m _fine,_ but-”

“Bull _shit_ you’re fine!” Jeremy blurted. “I fucking _saw_ that wound with my own two eyes! I’m surprised you didn’t die right then and there! God, I…there was _so_ much blood, Michael. Gav and I were _soaked_ in it!” The memory flashed in front of his eyes; he squeezed them shut and sat down in one of their squishy armchairs. “I seriously thought you were going to die.”

For a long, long while, nobody spoke. The TV droned on in the background, detailing the weather for the upcoming week. A jet soared overhead, the roar of its engines slowly gaining volume and power the closer it got, and lingering long after it winged away. Michael stared stonily at a patch on the ground while everyone else gaped at Jeremy. He shifted and turned to the TV. The weather report wrapped up, and another round of reports on the New Eden heist rolled up. Fuzzy security cam footage showed blurry four legged figures running up and down the halls with green-suited men in hot pursuit.

“I…he’s right, Michael.” Everyone turned to look at Gavin. His cheeks darkened a touch, but he pressed on. “Jeremy had to carry you on his damn back, and both of you were _drenched,_ Michael. Your effing _spine_ was just…just…out there. Caleb said…you’d be lucky if you survived, and it would be a _miracle_ if you came out with just a scar.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered down at him. “So stop being a _bitch_ and calm your tits, Michael.”

Michael’s mouth worked for a few seconds, but nothing came out. He relaxed ever so slightly and  finally said, “So, uh, is, is someone gonna, like, put on a movie or get me a controller or something? I’m fucking _bored_ over here.”

A great breath of relief went through the room, and Jeremy relaxed into the armchair.

Gavin beamed brightly, all seriousness apparently forgotten. “Let’s see if we can’t make any progress in _7 Days to Die,_ yeah boi?”

“Sure. Not like I’m good for anything else in this state.”

Ryan came around the couch and dropped Michael’s customized controller in front of his hands. He turned back, nosed at Gavin’s solid gold controller, nibbled on it a bit, and thought better of it. Gavin squawked and bumped his nose away, which resulted in Ryan tackling to the ground and laying down on him. He yelled and wriggled, but a skinny Brit was no match for the bulk of a full grown wolf. He settled down and let his head thump down on Gavin’s chest.

“Ryan! Ryan, _no!_ Ryan, I’m not having it!” The wolfdog’s eyes closed. His head lolled, and his weight sagged further down onto Gavin. “ _Ryan!_ ”

Geoff grinned and beamed down at Ryan. “Good boy, Ryan. If you stay there, you’ll get a treat.”

Gavin yelled in horror while one blue eye cracked open and regarded Geoff with a very serious stare. Jeremy laughed, Jack shook his head, and Michael was practically crying with how hard he laughed at Gavin’s predicament.

Finally, everything had fallen back into place, and the celebrations could finally commence.

* * *

 

After a hectic few weeks of shootouts and falling tanks, a sunny day with little in the way of clouds was exactly what the Fakes wanted. Swim shorts were busted out and dusted off, and Geoff’s new patio, swimming pool and Jacuzzi were summarily christened.

(All weapons, including Nerf guns, were banned, as Geoff and Jack did not want a repeat of the Great Pool Explosion of 2016.)

 Today, though, today was about relaxing and temporarily putting aside all worries. Sunlight streamed down between the slats in the roof, a light breeze ghosted over the water, and the smell of grilling brisket grew stronger by the second. Up here, where the buildings kissed the bellies of clouds, all worries and fears were left on the streets below. Up in the penthouse, everything finally felt at peace.

Geoff floated in the middle of the pool, sat firmly in his ostentatiously green-and-black, one hundred percent custom floaty-armchair. He had a soda in one hand and a brand-new copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ in the other. His sunglasses sat firmly on his sunscreened nose, and he glanced over the top of them every so often to see what everyone else was doing. Jeremy and Gavin splashed through the pool and sent waves of water at each other with disturbing frequency. Michael lay on a pool chair in the shade of a giant umbrella, doing his best not to look too grumpy. His stitches wouldn’t come out for another week, so Caleb insisted that Michael stay as far away from the water as humanly possible. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch the fireworks, or, the waterworks, he supposed. Finally, Jack stood behind the grill and tended to the sizzling meat. He had a ‘Don’t Fuck with the Chef’ apron on over his Hawaiian shirt and equally floral shorts, a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head, and a huge smile on his face. Ryan lurked in the shadows behind the grill. A newly repaired Edgar sat between his paws, but he paid it no heed. His eyes zeroed in on the raw brisket, bacon and burgers piled up on Jack’s lefthand side.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” said Jack. “I mean, a good chunk of this is _already_ for you, Ryan, you do _not_ need to eat it early.”

“I mean, he _is_ mostly wolf, Jack.” Jeremy hoisted himself up on the lip of the pool and shook the water off his head and shoulders. “Probably wouldn’t hurt him if he did eat it.”

“Jeremy, you do _not_ need to encourage him.”

Jeremy laughed and turned toward Michael. “You doing all right, Michael?”

“This fucking sucks _balls,_ dude.” Michael scowled up at the fluffy clouds. “You fucks are splashing around like fucking newlyweds, and I’m stuck on this fucking chair with this fucking itchy-ass stitches!”

Ryan stood and trotted over to Michael. His scowl slipped a little, and he patted Ryan’s head.

“We’ve got your back, Michael, no matter how shitty and fucked up it is right now,” said Geoff.

Michael snorted and looked over at his boss. “Why the fuck are you _reading,_ Geoff? At least I’m making a goddamn _effort_ to be here.”

“I’m in the fucking pool, aren’t I?” Geoff flipped Michael off and took a sip of his E-Cola. “You don’t have to be the fucking fun police, Michael.”

“Oooh! Sick burn, Geoff!” Jeremy laughed and clapped his hands. “You gonna take that, Michael?”

Michael stared at the water for a few minutes. A grin stretched across his face, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Hey, Ryan.” The wolfdog looked at him. “Go get Edgar, Ryan!” He immediately turned tail and ran back to the grill.

Geoff eyed them and held his book in front of his face. “You fuckers better not try anything.”

“Geoff! I, I, I am _appalled_ that you think I’d try _anything._ I’m an invalid, Geoff! I wouldn’t _dream_ of trying anything!” Ryan dropped his toy between Michael’s elbows and sat back. “Anyway…” He grabbed Edgar and tossed him up in the air once or twice. “Go get ‘im, Ryan!” He shut one eye and tossed the plushie cow right into Geoff’s lap.

Geoff blinked and looked down into his lap. Moments later he shrieked and fumbled with the toy, his book and his can of E-Cola. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck get it off! No no no no no _no_ -”

A shadow fell over Geoff’s chair, and by the time he looked up, it was far too late. Ryan slammed right into him and sent the whole kit and caboodle into the water. He coughed and spat out mouthfuls of chlorinated water while he paddled back to his upturned seat. His E-Cola bobbed back toward the back end of the pool, leaving a trail of dissipating brown liquid in its wake. His crew’s hysterical laughter rang in his ears.

“Michael, you…you goddamn little fucker!” He pulled himself up onto his seat and panted for air. “You nearly _drowned_ me!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Geoff,” said Jack.

“You shut your stupid mouth, Jack!”

On the other side of the pool, Ryan pulled himself out of the pool and shook the water from his fur. He moved back into the sun and chewed on his prize. An uneasy feeling settled into Geoff’s stomach when no squeaks emanated from the blob between Ryan’s jaws. He glanced around and had his fears confirmed when he saw a soaked Edgar resting on the pool’s stairs.

“Ryan! _Ryan!_ You drop that right now, you prick!” Geoff flung himself from the chair and threw himself toward the ladder. Ryan shifted away and held his tail up high. “You fucking heard me, asshole!” Geoff scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Ryan.

He promptly turned tail and darted back toward the house. Geoff moved to intercept him and managed to surprise the wolf when he dived for the grill. Jack let out a yell, but Geoff ignored him in favor of grabbing the sopping wet book in Ryan’s mouth. Ryan growled and dug in his paws. Geoff tugged back, a little well of despair opening in his chest when little pulpy holes formed in the book’s cover.

“C’mon, Ryan, give it back!”

“I’d let him have it, if I were you,” said Jack.

“Fuck no! I’m not letting him destroy another one!”

“Yeah, Geoff, get it!” said Michael.

“Tug of war!” yelled Jeremy, and Michael joined him in chanting “Tug of war! Tug of war!”

“It’s just a damn book.” Gavin’s mutter was barely audible over the chanting and Ryan’s growls.

Geoff dug his own feet in and gave a mighty heave. His heart leaped in his chest when the book came free and he fell flat on his ass. Michael and Jeremy whooped and clapped. He let out a sigh and squinted his eyes open to inspect the damage. His heart quickly sank back down. The upside-down title of _Catcher in the Rye_ glittered up through his fingers, along with the frayed edge of the torn book. The other three-quarters of the book still rested in between Ryan’s jaws, and, as Geoff watched, the wolf hunkered down and chewed the book to little white shreds.

“Nice try, Geoffrey,” said Jack.

“Goddammit, Ryan, what the fuck do you have against the works of J.D. Salinger?” Geoff’s question was only a whisper. The wolf had no answer for him. With a final shake of his head, he finished tearing the book apart and trotted back over to the pool to fish out Edgar.

When Geoff looked up, Jeremy had gone back to splashing Gavin, who now sat in Geoff’s chair. It seemed they had claimed it for themselves and were now using it as a sort of impromptu King of the Hill game. Geoff scowled and squished back to the side of the pool.

“You assholes have to the count of zero to get the fuck out of my chair.”

“How the Christ are you supposed to count to zero, Geoff?” asked Gavin.

“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Geoff jumped into the pool and joined Jeremy in trying to overturn the chair. Michael had tears leaking from his eyes.

Jack shook his head and pretended to fumble a large piece of brisket. It hadn’t been on the ground for three seconds when Ryan set upon it and gobbled it down whole. He smacked his chops happily and settled down next to Jack.

“That’s all you’re getting until dinnertime, Ryan. Unless J.D. Salinger ruined your appetite.” Ryan snorted. “I didn’t think so.”

He chuckled and cast a fond eye over the pool. The newly overturned chair bobbed crazily on the water while Geoff chased Gavin around the pool. Jeremy hung out next to Michael and chatted amiably with him, seemingly ignorant of the chaos unfolding in front of him. Jack smiled and “fumbled” a piece of bacon.

“Assholes, every one of them,” he said, and laughed again.

He wouldn’t trade them for the world.

* * *

 

Long after the sun descended behind the horizon, the party continued in full swing. Empty paper plates littered the table, stained with the remnants of barbeque sauce and chocolate cake. Several beer bottles decorated almost each and every place at the little table, most of them completely empty. The crew sat around and remembered past missions and heists, laughing more and more the deeper they got into their drinks. Ryan sniffed at all the plates, searching for any shred of brisket or sliver of bacon. Every now and then one of the crew would distract him by rubbing his ruff and slipping the plates covered in chocolate frosting away from his questing muzzle.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Geoff pushed himself upright and tapped two empty cans together. Everyone fell silent, and half a dozen sets of eyes came to rest on him. “Jack, if you could, uh, go get the present, I have something to say.”

Jack nodded and pushed himself out of his seat. The lads stared curiously after him, but their attention was almost immediately reclaimed by Geoff clearing his throat.

“You know, ‘bout a decade ago, I never thought I’d be doing this. I was squatting in shitholes with nothing to my name but a gun and the one guy who thought I was actually worth something. I thought I’d be there for the rest of my goddamn life; out on the ground with the rest of this city’s garbage, fighting for a piece of _anything._ ” He reached out and thumped Ryan’s shoulder. “Then this little monster came into my life and fucked. Everything. Up. I’ll admit, I wasn’t that fond of him at the start, but he grew on me. A little.”

“Still sore about that book, Geoff?” asked Michael. Everyone tittered when Geoff scowled.

“Seriously, I don’t know what his problem is. Every other book in the house he leaves alone. Anyway…” He cleared his throat again and continued. “…this asshole’s had our backs back when there was nobody else, and he’ll be here for a while yet. Nobody – not the other gangs, not the fucking cops, not even the goddamn zoo – can ever change that.” He picked up his glass and held it over the table. “So, here’s to the best crewmate an honest criminal could ask for. To Ryan!”

“To Ryan!” the crew echoed, and clinked their glasses. Ryan grinned at them, tail thumping against the deck. He boofed once and wiggled in his seat.

“Okay, here it is, Geoffrey.” Jack rounded the table and set a large hinged box down in front of Geoff. “You want to do the honors?”

“Might as well.” Geoff flipped it open and reached into the velvety interior. “Since Ryan lost his collar, I, uh, dug _real_ deep into my pockets and got him… _this._ ”

A large leather collar hung in between Geoff’s finger tips. Dark blue suede flanked either side of the silver D-ring, and this was accented with three strips of white gems. A black skull dangled from the D-ring, letters glittering on the back of its head. Everyone oohed and ahhed.

“Jesus Christ, how much did that cost, Geoff?” asked Michael.

“Wasn’t cheap, I’ll tell you that much.” Geoff poked one of the white stripes. “These are real fucking diamonds, assholes.”

He leaned forward and fastened the collar around Ryan’s neck. It sat perfectly on his shoulders, and Geoff smoothed the skull into his chest fur. The wolf panted and wiggled in his seat, grin stretched oh so wide over his face.

“Good to have you back, bud. Here’s hoping you stay this time.”

Geoff spent several minutes rubbing the base of Ryan’s ears and sinking his fingers into his fur. The rest of the crew stayed quiet.

“So, who want to take bets on how long until that collar gets absolutely fucking ruined?” asked Jeremy.

Geoff turned and glared.

“Goddammit, Li’l J! Did you have to ruin the mood?!”

Everyone laughed again. Ryan chuffed a few times, lifted his head, and let out a long, low howl. The sound echoed over the rooftops of Los Santos and faded into the starry night.

A quiet reminder that the Fake AH Crew stood at the top of the world, and nothing would knock them down any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. :)
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who read and supported this story. I couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> See you on the flipside!


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